


Woman, Angel, Princess, Beautiful - The Surveillant

by LylaUnicorn



Series: Woman, Angel, Princess, Beautiful [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Age Difference, Break Up, Cheating, Coming of Age, Dark Comedy, Domestic, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Explicit Language, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Intimidation, Loss of Virginity, MILFs, Masturbation, Nudity, Oral Sex, Porn Watching, Post-Break Up, Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LylaUnicorn/pseuds/LylaUnicorn
Summary: Surveillant, scorned husband, concerned father; Vegeta becomes emotionally paralysed after witnessing Bulma take Gohan's virginity.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Son Gohan, Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Series: Woman, Angel, Princess, Beautiful [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687156
Comments: 92
Kudos: 102





	1. Mrs Briefs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z is the creation of Akira Toriyama, © Toei Animation and Funimation
> 
> Content Warning Re: Underage tag - Contains sex scenes between seventeen year old anime characters and adult anime characters.

When I first encountered my wife, Bulma, on Planet Namek, Gohan was little more than a toddler.

From what I could tell, they had no more affection for one another than an aunt and nephew.

Over the years, I took for granted the platonic nature of their relationship. But somewhere in the thick, sticky midst of puberty things changed.

By seventeen, Gohan split his time between high school and living out some misguided sense of civic duty as a wannabe super hero – a farcical waste of time which, much to my distaste and amusement, Bulma encouraged.

She’d caress his forearm, play-punch his shoulder, ruffle his hair and lavish him with platitudes. “I see the Great Saiyaman has made front page news again,” she said with a wink. “Satan City sure is in good hands. If I ever end up a damsel in distress, I know who I'm gonna call.”

His go-to response always consisted of false modesty. “It’s nothing, really,” he’d say. “I just wanna do what I can to make the city a safer place.” But his scarlet blush and nervous laughter belied his swelling ego.

At the time, I read nothing into the woman’s sycophantic prattle. Full of condescension, she seemed to forget that she was talking to an almost-adult and not our six-year-old son who, incidentally, was the main reason behind Gohan’s regular visits to Capsule Corp.

Trunks was best friends with Gohan’s little brother, Goten. And every Saturday the teenager brought him over. The kids played and trained together which suited me just fine. I had indoctrinated my boy into the world of martial arts and Kakarot’s youngest served him well as a scruffy haired punch bag.

Kakarot, himself, rarely visited. After a five-year stint in the other world, he was preoccupied with getting his life on Earth back in order. The scarcity of his company mattered very little to me, and I’m positive that he felt likewise. We shared a unique affinity, and there had been instances in the heat of battle when I had been glad to call him ‘friend’. Even so, neither one of us sought to cultivate the kind of tight-knit bond that had developed between our young sons.

Most of the time, we faded into acquaintance.

And when it came to Gohan, my association was weaker still.

Although a regular visitor to my home, he and I passed like ships in the night. But, despite having minimal contact with him, I started to notice a difference in the way he looked at, and acted around, Bulma.

The comfortable, light-hearted interactions that once flowed between them, failed to manifest. Instead, lingering stares and awkward silences filled the void. To begin with, I put it down to a lack of mutual interests. Afterall, what would an eleventh grader and a thirty-eight-year-old housewife have in common?

But my suspicion that Gohan had developed something of an attraction to her was more or less confirmed when he ceased to fly on his cloud. Only those pure of heart and mind could ride it - the damn thing practically evaporated whenever I, Vegeta, saiyan prince, former destroyer of planets, and ex-ally to Frieza, looked in its direction.

I didn’t care enough to mention the absence of his usual mode of transport. Bulma, on the other hand, couldn’t help but pry. “Hey, Gohan, no Nimbus, today?”

“Uh?” He gazed off to the side and rubbed the back of his neck. “No. I thought Goten could use the trip to West City to get in some flying practice.”

The following Saturday, there was still no sign of the cloud. Only, that time, my mother-in-law was the one to meddle. “I’m startin’ to miss your fluffy yellow friend,” she said, with a plate of cakes in one hand and her other on Gohan’s shoulder. “I sure hope you bring him again soon! My flowers never look better than when he rains on ‘em.”

With a mouthful of éclair, the suddenly flustered boy explained that he intended to gift Nimbus to his little brother and would never ride it again.

Without question, the ditzy blonde and Bulma (who was also present) bought into his apparent gesture of goodwill. But, as far as I was concerned, his flushed, guilty face told a different story. Namely, that the cloud refused to carry him any longer because he’d been harbouring indecent thoughts.

And every single fibre of my intuition told me that a certain turquoise-haired beauty played the starring role in his sordid little fantasies.

At first, it amused, maybe even thrilled me to think that my wife was the object of another male’s desire. That is, until a couple of weeks later when she twigged his crush.

While leaning forward to serve iced tea, she caught him staring down her top. And though she pretended not to notice his open mouthed wonderment, her irrepressible smile made it clear that she had enjoyed the attention.

From then on, there was a marked change in the way she dressed for the Son brothers’ visits - tighter jeans, plunging necklines, shorter skirts, heels instead of flat shoes. And, before answering the front door, she’d make a last-minute dash to the hallway mirror to reapply her lipstick, or fix her hair...or reposition her push-up bra.

I said nothing. I didn’t want to appear petty or jealous over a geeky teenager. And, in any case, I felt certain that he’d never act upon his desire.

Quiet, shy and sensitive, he positively wilted in Bulma’s exuberance. He lacked sexual sophistication and was, fundamentally, inexperienced in all matters romantic.

Nevertheless, I took to spying on the two of them.

Throughout their visits, the usual loose routine went ahead as usual. That is to say, within seconds of greeting one another, Trunks and Goten ran off while Bulma and Gohan headed into the kitchen. There, she offered refreshments and made small talk.

“Catch any criminals lately?”, “Think you could bring Chi Chi’s curry recipe next time?”, “Tell Goku to come see Vegeta, he could use the company.” That sort of thing.

But no matter how innocent the conversation, something strained and hormonal hung in the air.

A milieu of sexual tension.

There was no rationalising it away or dressing it up. It was unalloyed, unmistakable, and it was there to stay.

Occasionally, my in-laws ambled in and neutralised the simmering chemistry with their cheery dispositions. However, as soon as they left their daughter and the kid alone, the charged atmosphere re-formed with a vengeance.

While she filed her nails or browsed through a catalogue, he'd glance and she’d smile back. Then, he’d mentally kick himself for not looking away in time and, minutes later, they'd make eyes at each other all over again like a video clip stuck on replay.

The excitement and tedium was palpable; as was Gohan’s internal conflict. He relished Bulma’s company but all the teasing and retreating got him hot under the collar. And because he lacked the candour to deal with the woman's coquetry, he took to bringing homework along to have an excuse to look down when it became too much.

For the most part, she was sensitive to his shyness and left him to bury his head in his books.

There were also times when she refused to be ignored.

Perching on whatever surface he’d chosen to work at, she'd cross one leg over the other, flash a whole lot of thigh, and ask about his studies as a thinly veiled way of commanding his nerve-wracked attention. On one occasion, she even laid on a little fashion show and it was then that I let my insecurities get the better of me.

As Gohan sat at the kitchen island, surrounded by textbooks, she twirled in front of him. “What do you think of my new outfit?"

The clatter of stilettos resounded over the floor tiles. "Does it suit me?"

Her forest green dress came down to mid-thigh and was so tight that it looked glued on. She paused to show off the rear view, and I’ll admit, her ass looked amazing - like it defied gravity.

No wonder then, the kid stared as if she was a movie star. “Wow!…You look amaz…”

I entered and he froze mid-sentence.

“Uh?...I mean, it’s nice,” he said. “Although, you might wanna get a second opinion; I’m not much of a fashion connoisseur.”

Ignoring them both, I went to the refrigerator.

Bulma cleared her throat. “Hi Honey, I thought you were training in the gravity room.”

I pulled out a sport drink and shut the door. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

The boy’s eyes dropped immediately to his books.

“Of course not,” said Bulma. “I was telling Gohan about my latest trip to the mall.”

I let out a snort of derision. “Riveting.”

Her hands landed on her hips. “Don’t be a jerk! Would it kill you to at least try and make some civil conversation?”

With my head tipped back, I drank while casting a scrutinising gaze in the boy’s direction.

I went over and he looked up. “Hey, Einstein.” I said. “How’s study hall going?”

Bulma sighed with frustration. And, though it was immature, I revelled in playing the part of school bully picking on a nerdy victim.

All hunched shoulders and downcast gaze, he practically cowered before me. Still, he overcame his wariness and forced a half-smile. “…It’s going pretty well, thanks. Apart from one algebra problem.” He fiddled with his pen. “I’ve gone over it a dozen times but I can’t seem to crack it.”

I glanced at my wife then refocused on him. “That’s probably because the blood has rushed out of your head and ended up _someplace else_.”

The kid looked at me as if I’d dealt him five aces. Likewise, the woman’s feathers were ruffled.

She shot me a look of utter disapproval. “Sorry, Gohan," she said. "Vegeta hasn’t yet learned to keep quiet unless he has something nice to say.”

I left in silence. Having made my point, I had no interest in hanging around to be subjected to sanctimonious drivel from a woman whose sexual conquests included a desert bandit and a mass murdering space pirate.

* * *

The following Saturday, Gohan dropped Goten off as usual. But, much to Bulma’s disappointment, didn’t hang around.

He came out with some cock and bull story about needing to go to the city library. And, when she proposed that he stay and search online for a digital copy of whatever book he required, he politely declined and made a flustered exit.

Later, the woman collared me and placed the blame squarely at my feet. She was convinced that my little comment from the previous week had made him feel ‘uncomfortable’. And, unfortunately, our conversation deteriorated from there. I suggested, in the event that Gohan never returned, she would only need to wait until little Goten entered puberty. And as long as she didn’t grow wrinkly, fat and saggy, she could probably count on some attention from him.

Needless to say, she didn’t appreciate my input. And by that, I mean she exploded in a fit of rage punctuated with the worst swear words imaginable.

From then on, we slept separately. Granted, even at the best of times, that wasn’t altogether unusual. Our relationship had always been tempestuous.

In the end, we always made up. I’d come on to her and she’d act as if she couldn’t care less, resisting my advances until I threw her over my shoulder, dragged her to bed and fucked her into the other world.

The trick lay in waiting until after Trunks had gone to bed. By then, Bulma was tired and her defences were down. And to increase my chances of success, I waited a few days for her to cool off after our disagreement before sidling up to her on the sofa. She lowered her magazine just long enough to look at me as if I was utter filth, then went right back to freezing me out.

I reassured myself that she was playing hard to get and slid my arm around her shoulders. There was no sign of protest which led me to presume that I was on my way back into her good books. However, when I leaned in and kissed and tongued the erogenous zone behind her ear, the ice failed to thaw.

I was shrugged off and told in no uncertain terms to ~~go fuck myself~~ back off.

I suppose, after seven years together, she’d grown weary of my tumultuous ways. But, more than that and for the first time ever, her refusal to reconcile with me was down to a third party.

Although Gohan wasn’t aware of it at that point, he was already fulfilling her emotional needs with adoration and tenderness the likes of which I could never bring myself to give her.

Even so, I reassured myself that Bulma was a smart woman and, no matter how flattering it felt to be so candidly admired, she couldn’t possibly regard the wayward infatuation of a horny adolescent as anything more than a novelty.

I had my saiyan genes to thank for that gross misjudgement. Emotional intelligence is not our forte. And while the deficit in our amygdala function means we’re able to storm into battle practically free of fear, it also blunts our experience of, and appreciation for, love.

My pride and arrogance (which I possessed by the boat load) only hindered me further. When I should have persevered to win my wife over, I dug my heels in, grew pre-emptively cold, and snubbed her at every opportunity.

Childish, I know, but humility had always evaded me.

Having already mocked the boy, there wasn’t much else I could do to put the dampeners on his crush. As far as sins went, it was minor; hardly worthy of excessive punishment. And so, I felt that my only option was to continue to watch on from afar.

* * *

There were several regular vantage points that I liked to use whenever the Son brothers blessed my home with their presence.

The staircase in Capsule Corp’s lobby was my go-to starting point.

Owing to the fact that humans are such lazy slobs, they always chose the elevator over putting one foot in front of the other. Consequently, I was able to carry out my observations undisturbed; even amongst an influx of employees and visitors.

Saturday arrived, and so did Kakarot’s two boys. Trunks and Goten scurried away while Gohan, again, made some lame excuse about needing to leave.

Only, that time, Bulma came back at him with an equally weak counter-plea.

“Wait!” She held out her hand, dropping it when he turned around to listen. “Umm, could you help me out with something?”

His eyebrows raised. “…Uh?...What is it?”

She clasped her hands behind her back. “I need someone _big_ and _strong_ to get the dinosaur food down from the top shelf in the store-room.”

He buried his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. “…Isn’t Vegeta around?”

“I don’t know where he is.” An obnoxious hair flick was swiftly followed by the stroppy crossing of her arms. “And, to be honest, I don’t care.”

“Oh…” He looked as if he wanted to ask about what I had done to piss her off. But I guess he feared being dragged into a tedious and uncomfortable conversation. “In that case," he said. "Sure. I can spare a few minutes."

I stalked them to the store-room where Gohan retrieved the huge sack of pet food and held it on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. “Where do you want me to put it?”

Bulma, having been impressed by his display of raw strength, sank her teeth into her bottom lip. “You can put it wherever you want, Sweetie.”

The innuendo made me cringe, and the boy fared no better. He blushed profusely and could no longer bear to look at her.

After some quick thinking, he went and propped the sack up against the wall. “…I’ll just leave it here.”

“Thanks!” said Bulma. Her tone held a disproportionate amount of enthusiasm. “Hey, stay and have a drink with me?”

He reached across his body and gave his arm an absentminded scratch. “I don’t know if I should," he said. "I mean, I don’t wanna piss off…uh…annoy Vegeta.”

With nauseating girlishness, she giggled when he corrected himself. “You can swear if you want to.” Her gaze travelled down the length of his body before returning to his face. “It’s not like you’re a little kid anymore. And, please, ignore Vegeta. This is my house and you’re always welcome.”

“Thanks,” he said. “But the last time I was here, he got the wrong idea and I don’t want that to happen again.”

She tilted her head. “You’ve been worrying about that stupid little comment all this time, huh?” She took a step forward and threw her hands up with playful conviction. “Well, screw what that jerk thinks! Come have a drink with me? Please? I miss our little chats. Your mom and dad are so busy with the farm, I hardly get to see them anymore; or any of the gang for that matter. Truth is, it gets kind of lonely around here.”

His expression lightened. “You’re right.” He sighed. “I’ve been silly. Vegeta was probably just joking around.”

Bulma smiled victoriously. “That’s more like it!”

Having cleared the air, they laughed and chattered all the way to the kitchen.

Everything seemed innocent; right up until the woman delved into the refrigerator. “You like Vodka?”

Gohan froze like a child that had been offered candy by a stranger. “…I’ve never tried it.”

“That’s ok,” she said, while pulling out the aforementioned alcohol. “I’ll mix it into some juice. You won’t even know it’s in there.”

“I don’t know…” He stared with great apprehension, as if the spirit had been distilled by the devil himself. “It’s not exactly legal for someone my age.”

She winked. “Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

A lopsided grin spread across his face. “…Alright then.”

They went into the living room, each carrying a glass, and sat down on the sofa together.

“This is nice,” said Bulma. “These days, I don’t have a lot of fun stuff to talk about. But it sure is good to have company.”

“Same here,” said Gohan. “Seems like all I do is go to school and babysit Goten.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Family means everything though, right?" She gushed over Kakarot's return from the other world, claiming that she felt immense happiness for the Sons and their reunion. "I’m still amazed at how well little Goten reacted to meeting his daddy for the first time," she said. "No tears, no mood swings. It was love at first sight. He’s the coolest five-year-old I’ve ever met.” She smiled. “….Since you, that is.”

At the mention of Kakarot, Gohan took a large mouthful of his drink. And, although there was a hint of something begrudging and insincere in his tone, he agreed that it was good to have his father around. Apparently, Chi Chi was much happier for it, and he was great with Goten.

“Dad would like to spend more time training him," he said. "But the little guy’s in a steady routine and we don’t wanna mess with it.”

“I get that,” said Bulma. She raised her glass and took a sip. “Anyway, what about you? How’s school?”

“It’s going pretty well. Studying isn’t fun but it pays off at exam time.”

Slowly, she ran a fingertip around the rim of her glass. “…And what about?...” She shook her head. “Nevermind.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well…I was gonna ask how you’re getting along with your little friend, Videl. You guys still hang out?”

For a second, the question stunned him. “…Uh, yeah.” He swallowed. “School’s pretty hectic but we meet up whenever we can.”

“That’s great!” She spoke with an exaggerated tone that smacked of false positivity. “You should bring her over some time. I’d love to meet her.

Gohan gulped his cocktail until there was barely half left. He was probably hoping that it would fill him with Dutch courage but, unfortunately, the alcohol failed to take effect in time. Meanwhile, Bulma seemed oblivious to the fact that her increasingly personal line of questioning was to blame for the boy's red-faced bashfulness.

She crossed her legs and fiddled with her earring; poised as if to proceed with polite, inconsequential conversation. “So…have you and Videl… _y’know_?”

...!...

The unexpected enquiry into his sex life hit home like a spirit bomb. His eyes widened, he clenched his knee with involuntarily consternation. And Bulma quickly realised that she had spooked him.

She clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oops, sorry!” She used said hand to fan her face. “That was way too personal. Ignore me, it’s the vodka talking.” Stilling herself, she sighed. “Man, I’m such a lightweight these days.”

Eyes fixed on the coffee table in front, Gohan cleared his throat. “We…uh…we haven’t been dating for very long.” He took a deep breath. “Besides, there’s no rush to get serious.”

Something wry and sultry beset my wife’s expression. And, at the confirmation of the boy’s innocence, I could practically hear her maneater instinct roar into life.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” she said. “I think you’re doing exactly the right thing by taking it slow.”

He glanced at her. “Yeah?”

“Sure,” she said. “I wish I had when I was your age. Maybe then I wouldn’t have wasted twelve years of my life on the wrong guy.”

The kid watched on with interest as she swirled her drink around and gazed into the middle distance. “I’d just turned sixteen when I met Yamcha. And let’s just say, my panties didn’t stay up for long afterwards.”

Gohan tipped his head back against the sofa cushions and stared at the ceiling. “…Lucky Yamcha.”

Her eyebrows arched. “What?”

He immediately leaned forward. “Sorry! I didn’t mean for that to sound the way it did.”

“Don’t apologise.” Her hand landed on his thigh. “I like the way it sounded.”

Panic struck, and he looked around for somewhere to ditch his glass. With a giggle, Bulma took it and placed it, along with her own, on the coffee table.

Then, she returned her attention to him, nestling in closer.

“Gohan?”

The kid looked choked up, terrified even.

“…Do you _like_ me?”

Fists clenched at either side of his hips, he stared downward. “…No.”

She blinked. “…Oh.”

Disappointment extinguished the sparkle in her eyes and she shrank away from him.

She opened her mouth, no doubt to apologise for making such an outrageous and inappropriate assumption, but he got there first.

“…I’m in love with you.”

All three of us froze. And I felt so detached from the proceedings that it was as if I’d stepped out of reality altogether.

It reminded me of dying. Specifically, the moment that exists between this world and the next, between pain and harmony, the familiar and the unknown. Yes, the surrealism of watching my wife seduce Kakarot’s lovesick brat felt much like that, only, without the sweet release of death.

For the first time in months, he looked straight into her eyes. “…I’ve always loved you.”

Bulma’s mouth gaped, and she stared as if he was about to combust.

There was a long pause but, eventually, her cognitive functions shifted into gear. “Oh my God...I had no idea that you felt so strongly.”

“…When I was younger,” he said. “I prayed that you’d wait for me. To grow up, I mean.”

He whined about her break up with Yamcha, how it had given him false hope to believe that he could step up as her next suitor.

“Then I found out that you were with Vegeta,” he said. “It felt worse than when Radditz killed my dad.”

She stifled a gasp against her palm, then let both hands fall into her lap where they fumbled together. “…I don’t know what to say…”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You probably never want to see me again; I’ve made everything weird now.”

As he attempted to stand, she pressed his chest, causing him to lean back. “Hold on,” she said. “This is partly my fault…” She took a deep breath. “I kind’ve guessed you had a crush on me. I’ve been dressing up and flirting because it felt so good to have someone look at me the way you do."

He sat bolt upright. “Really?!?”

The woman came over all rosy cheeked and fidgety, hugging herself with one arm while her free hand played with her necklace. “……I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to act like some immature school girl.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve loved every minute of it!” He spilled over with unbridled enthusiasm. “You’re so hot!…Like, not just pretty, but ridiculously sexy.”

“Gosh.” She giggled. “I can’t even remember the last time a guy said anything like that to me.”

The boy’s dark lashes swept up as he peered at her from under the spiky lock of hair that fell over his forehead. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

With childlike shyness, she returned his gaze. “…I’ve been thinking about you a lot too.”

He twisted his body toward her. “…Can I kiss you? Just to see how it feels?”

Her eyes turned to saucers and he looked thunderstruck.

“Fuck!” He buried his face in his hands. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“…I’m not upset, honestly,” she said. “It’s just that, no one has ever asked for my permission before.”

They were silent for a few moments, staring straight ahead like a pair of crash test dummies.

With shifty caution, Gohan glanced at her. “…So, can I?”

I wanted to believe that, in the time Bulma spent chewing her bottom lip and tucking her hair behind her ear, she was contemplating our marriage. But, even if that had been the case, it wasn’t enough to thwart his charms.

“…Alright,” she said.

I was stupefied. Though, strangely, not because of the imminent kiss. Rather, I found it bizarre to see a woman who I had only ever known to be fiery and domineering, reduced to a coy, tittering maiden.

The kid lifted his hands. At first, he went to hold her waist then hesitated while he second guessed himself. In the end, he grasped her shoulders, and the last thing I noticed was her smile before he eclipsed her face with his.

Initially, I underestimated how passionate the kiss was going to be. I predicted an unconfident mesh of lips lasting five seconds tops. But it went on and on. And there was no mistaking the fact that his tongue was in her mouth.

When they finally parted, Bulma appeared a little overwhelmed.

“…Wow!” She gasped. “I can tell you’ve done that before.”

“Yeah,” he said, all breathy and dope-eyed. “But it never felt that good. Can I do it again?”

Her expression was one of sheer bemusement. “How can I say no?”

And with that, he surged forward, devouring her mouth and covering the top half of her body with his. Keen to add to the entanglement, she leaned back, gripping the nape of his neck and raking her fingers up through his hair.

Eerie silence descended, broken only by the rustle of his jeans when he adjusted his hard-on.

Ten seconds later, he was at it again. Then again in another five - pulling and tugging the ridged fabric at his groin until it became too much of a distraction for the woman to ignore.

“You ok?”

“I'm fine,” he said. “It’s just…”

She followed his downcast gaze and gawked at the tent he’d pitched. “…Oh!?”

Surprise faded, and her mouth spread into a knowing grin. She swung her leg over his upper thighs, pulled herself atop, and wriggled until she had successfully straddled his lap.

“Don’t worry,” she said as she stroked his mesmerised face. “…I can fix that.”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “…If you want me to.”

He gave a stiff nod. “Oh, God, yes.”

The next kiss was brief yet affectionate. He met her mouth with a groan of relief and, afterwards, she sat back. The straps of her tight red mini dress were barely wider than those of her bra, and she slid both lots down her arms until her bare tits jutted forward.

Truth was, Yamcha had gotten the best years out of those puppies. They were still in good shape by the time I came along but, soon after, she had Trunks and he took his toll during the breast-feeding saga. Bulma stuck with it for three months before the changes started to show – darker, tougher, lower nipples; a slight spreading of the areolas. It never bothered me (I like asses more than tits) but she switched to bottle feeding and booked herself in for a boob job.

She’d maintained the results well. Uplifted and full, her tits sat proud of her chest. The hairline scars did nothing to dissuade me of their appeal. Evidently, the same could be said of Gohan.

His dopey, sparkly eyes centred on her nipples. His mouth parted, his tongue twitched. And, though the woman was beyond flattered at his incessant ogling, she grew impatient.

“…It’s ok,” she said. “I’m not wearing a do not touch sign.”

He looked up, suddenly alert and seemingly lost. “…What?” Then, once his sex addled brain deciphered her sarcasm, he concentrated on her chest as if it was a puzzle to solve. “Oh, right.”

He grabbed both mounds at once, marvelling at how the firm tissue compacted when he squeezed, and how her nipples felt like velvety, baby rose buds as he rolled them between his thumbs and fingertips.

Her spine curved as she pushed into his touch. “…Mmm…Have you done this before too?”

“…Sort of,” he droned. “Videl doesn’t let me get inside her bra though.”

She let out a bitchy little giggle. “That girl doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Scooting forward, the woman pressed her crotch to his. Then, while cradling his head, she encouraged him to switch up his groping into an altogether more oral affair.

He took the hint and planted a few kisses between and around her tits before latching on to the closest nipple – grunting and sucking with the kind of urgency that screamed ‘mommy issues’. It surprised me that it didn’t all end, there and then, in premature ejaculation.

Bulma, on the other hand, had no qualms about indulging his voracious Oedipal foreplay. She played along, releasing long groans of appreciation, until desire led her away to investigate the hard, denim-covered wedge on which she sat.

As she reclined, her tit slipped from his mouth. He lurched after the wet tip but a firm push to the chest kept him at bay while she wrestled with his belt - a task which took enough effort to leave her short of breath. When she finally succeeded in unfastening the buckle, she beamed like a winning gameshow contestant. “Got it!”

Between his legs, she slid to the floor and unzipped his fly. He sank back, watching on in astonishment as she released him from the confines of his cartoon superhero covered boxers.

A column of shadow cast across her face.

Her jaw dropped. “…Gohan!”

She gazed up like a mountaineer at the foot of Everest and I felt my eyebrow twitch.

The bastard was hung like something that lived on a ranch.

It wasn’t as if I felt inadequate in comparison. But the way the woman marvelled would have led anyone to believe that she was a complete stranger to the well-endowed end of the male anatomy scale.

While staring in awe, her mouth slackened and she curled her hand around his hard-on as if to check it was real. Within seconds, she had the measure of him. Her tongue hugged the underside of his cock’s throbbing head then, inch by inch, she gobbled him to the back of her throat.

Deep, guttural moans escaped from the kid. Eyes closed, head back, he gripped the front of his seat cushion and tipped his hips forward.

His balls sat in her palm, enclosed and fondled by delicate fingers. A thick length of dick disappeared and reappeared as the mouth and fist surrounding it glided up and down, over and over, minute after minute.

The woman let up. “Look at me,” she said, waiting until his punch-drunk face flopped forward before resuming her sucking, jerking double act.

“Nnnnrrrrghhh!….Ahh!…..Ahhh!…Oh God!”

Breathing heavy and invoking the supernatural repeatedly, he appeared to be seconds away from going off in her mouth. Had I been a gambler, I’d have bet on him lasting no longer than another ten.

And judging by the way Bulma swiftly ended the blow job, she too must have sensed that his release was imminent.

Basted in saliva, his cock pinned up against his lower abdominal muscles and he slumped like a rag doll on a rocking chair. The woman stood and took a moment to admire her handiwork before taking hold of his limp wrists. As she guided his palms up her outer thighs, her dress bunched around her hips. Then, between her nimble fingers and his heavy mitts, her skimpy underwear dropped to the floor.

Gohan (and I) drank in the sight of her supple curves, flat planes and hidden valley with its neat strip of curls that stopped above her slit.

The hairs were as soft as lamb’s wool and a delightful place to stop for a pre-oral nuzzle. But rather than introduce his face to her pussy, the kid stared in dumb fascination until she mounted him.

Wriggling beneath, he pushed his jeans down. And had only just brought them to his knees when she took hold of his dick and positioned the tip between her thighs.

He held either side of her waist and leaned back as if waiting for a band of angels to air-lift him to heaven, blessed all the same in having to settle for the second-best thing.

Slowly, the woman impaled herself. Eyes widening, she sucked in a sharp breath. “…Ah!...”

Apparently, his size was a bit of an issue. Unable to take him all in one go, she lowered with great caution as if getting into a scalding bath. “Ahhhh!...Ahh!”

One third at a time, his cock sank inside her.

“Ohhhhhhh God!” Her neck arched. “It…it feels like I’m a virgin all over again!”

Panting blended with relieved laughter until she finally touched down in his lap. “…How’s that, Honey? Feel ok?”

Gohan’s head lolled from side to side. “...Ahhhhhgh….I’m gonna cum…I’m gonna cum.”

She squirmed. “Hold on!”

Back straight, she gripped his shoulders like motorcycle handlebars. Thighs straining either side of his, she pushed herself up then lowered in controlled, rhythmic motions as if riding a horse in rising trot. “Ah…ah…ah…ah…ah,” she rasped. “…. That’s it…that’s it!”

Sweat beaded above Gohan’s furrowed eyebrows, his jaw clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Bulma…I…I’m gonna.”

“Go ahead,” she panted. “It’s fine.”

But no sooner had she granted him permission than his grip on her waist tightened, and he slammed her down to cum. She squealed, drowning out his strained grunts. “AiiiiiiIIIGHhhhh!” The crack in her voice chiming more of pain than pleasure.

The remedy followed with the leaking of his jizz. With everything hot, slick and frothing between her legs, her lust reignited. And she fucked like hell, grinding her clit against the base of his dick.

Her head snapped back, her hair whipped between her shoulder blades. “Ahh!…Ahh!….AhhhhhhhhhhHHHHH!”

Erratic and atonal, her cries came out tuned by orgasm. Meanwhile, Gohan with his flushed complexion, dilated pupils and eyelids at half-mast, rapt with her wild reaction.

The breathless woman fell forward to hug him. And he, too, wound his arms around her and buried his face into the crook of her neck.

“…Thank you,” he croaked.

“Ugh!...” She pulled back to cup his cheeks with both hands. “Gohan, Honey, please don’t ever say that to me or anyone else after sex, ok?”

“Sorry.”

“And quit apologising.”

“Uh?...Right.”

They resumed their embrace, basking in each other’s afterglow, while his dick softened inside her. Heavy breathing faded to contented sighs and then to silence which, in turn, was inopportunely broken by the clean-up operation.

A dozen tissues later, they had mopped themselves up and slipped back into all clothes previously removed.

Bulma perched atop the coffee table and put on her stilettos. “Guess I should go dig out some flat shoes.” She winked at him. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk straight for a while.”

With her leg stretched, she pointed her foot to emphasise her five-inch heels. “And these are deadly at the best of times.”

Gohan’s face was overcome with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

She stood and hooked her index finger under his chin. “You’re so sweet.” Raising up on tip toes, she rewarded him with a quick kiss. “That’s one hell of a weapon you got down there,” she said. “But I’m a big fan of heavy artillery.”

He grinned. “…Um…I’m glad you like it.”

She draped her arms around his shoulders. “So,” she said. “Think you might be available to keep me company during Trunks and Goten’s play date next week?”

His face lit up. “Hell, yeah!” He cleared his throat and recomposed himself. “I mean, yes please.”

She giggled, “Good, but for the love of God, stop being so polite, ok?”

While plumping the sofa cushions, Bulma and the kid had an inapt conversation about formality and informality. Afterwards, they decided that coffee would be a good idea. And with that, they headed out to the kitchen as if nothing had ever happened.

Meanwhile, I remained planted to the spot.

I tried, God knows I tried, but I couldn’t feel a damn thing.

I knew exactly how I was meant to react yet remained completely unresponsive. There was no rage, no jealousy; only the strange, calm acceptance that my rival’s teenage son had fucked my wife.

I’d seen it coming a mile off and, for the life of me, couldn’t understand why I’d made no attempt to stop it. Each time I tried to confront my feelings towards her or her infidelity, my mind drew a blank.

As for Gohan?

He irked me; but no more than usual.

Convinced that I was experiencing some kind of delayed reaction, I waited for a minute. And then another. A quarter of an hour elapsed and, still, nothing.

I couldn’t remain in hiding forever, that much was clear. And so, after deliberating over my next move, I boiled my options down to three: confront, disregard or wait.

In the end, I chose the latter.


	2. Student and Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bulma leads Gohan to the poolhouse, Vegeta follows, curious about whether another dose of their debauchery will have any effect upon him.

Perhaps it was curiosity that compelled me to join Bulma and Gohan in the kitchen. Or maybe the desire to test my emotions. Either way, I remained perfectly calm and upon entering the room, received a warm greeting from her and a polite acknowledgement from him.

They had no idea that I had watched them fuck. And though, for the time being, I wanted it to stay that way, I thought (hoped even) that my presence might have triggered some feeling of remorse. But neither one showed the slightest hint.

We sipped from steaming mugs and while the two of them droned on about the origin of the coffee beans and the socio-economic situation in that part of the world, I tuned out.

That’s not to say I wasn’t paying attention to detail. A tissue, sodden with the remnants of their lovemaking, poked out from under the trash lid. When passing the boy, I detected the woman’s perfume clinging to his t-shirt. In fact, he still had a smudge of lipstick on his cheek.

Surrounded by evidence, I could have very easily put something of a legal case together right there on the spot and held them dead to rights. Throughout our little coffee break, that idea amused me to such an extent I had to hide my smirk behind my cup. But no matter how many times I rehearsed the bust in my head, I couldn’t drum up enough motivation to put it into action.

And yet, through the inertia of it all, a creeping sense of self-disgust hovered around my psyche, taunting me for being weak and passive. In an attempt to save face, I reassured myself that there was no need to react at once. I knew where the kid lived and as soon as I had decided upon a suitable course of action, he would be dealt with, along with my wife.

To that end, the rest of the day passed uneventfully. However, I quickly realised after Gohan went home, he and the woman were communicating on the sly.

Over the week that followed, she spent an inordinate amount of time sauntering along the hallways of Capsule Corp, never once looking up from her cell phone. A whole lot of smirking and lip biting accompanied countless text messages and there were several late-night phone calls spoken in hushed tones while locked in the bathroom. When feeling more brazen, she’d join me and Trunks in the living room and there she’d sit, bashing out replies on her laptop to whatever sleazy, soppy, bullshit Gohan fired at her.

Not that I spent every waking hour keeping watch.

My usual routine, which consisted mostly of training, went ahead unbroken. If anything, I found a whole new appreciation for the structure added to my life by all those gravity room sessions and meditation excursions to the wilderness.

And because Bulma was so pre-occupied, Trunks sought to spend more time with me. High-spirited and bright, his company brought a new and not unwelcome dynamic to my days. He requested an increase in the intensity of our sparring matches and to be taught some dirty moves (just for fun, of course). Although, after I demonstrated how to carry out an elbow strike to the back of the neck, he didn’t ask again.

Saturday came around and I felt no different about Bulma and Gohan’s fuck than I had when first witnessing it. But rather than dwell on my emotional deficiency, some bizarre compulsion, a kind of warped intrigue, had me taking cover to watch as the dance began once more.

The half-breed brothers arrived and as soon as Goten and Trunks had trotted away, Bulma greeted Gohan with a wry smile. “I have something to show you in the pool house.”

She took him by the hand, giggling as she led him away.

Due to having a six-year-old that enjoyed playing hide and seek, the building in question was kept locked at all times. As its name suggested, it housed a swimming pool along with a hot tub, cocktail bar and various kinds of seating and tables. Trunks was only allowed in under strict supervision and though I felt it was an extreme overreaction, Bulma and her mother had ganged up and insisted that we simply couldn’t risk his safety. No matter how much I laboured the point that the boy could swim, fly and turn super saiyan, they clung to their irrational fear of him wandering in and drowning.

With its locked doors and closed shutters, it was the perfect love nest for any couple seeking privacy. I should know. Over the years I’d fucked Bulma in the Jacuzzi so many times that I’m sure at, one point, it became more sperm than water.

I raced to grab my copy of the key and let myself in before she and the kid could get there. Then, from behind a stack of sun loungers, I braced myself.

Seconds later, the two of them entered; whispering and tittering before collapsing on the giant, hooded rattan sun lounger which overlooked the pool.

He shed his jacket and shirt then climbed on top of her; tongues knotting as they kissed. With eagerness hinging on desperation, he reached under her skirt and tugged at her underwear while mouthing her neck with hungry toothless bites.

And though laughing agreeably, she pushed him back. “Wait, wait, wait.”

Halfway through unzipping his fly, he paused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s just that we have plenty of time to get to the _main event_.”

“Oh?...” He straightened up and sat back on his heels. “…I thought you wanted to uh…”

She took his hands in hers, “I do! But you know what comes before that, right?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Um? Kissing and stuff?”

“Ok…” She settled back against the pillows. “So, tell me, what’s your idea of _stuff_?”

He blushed and broke eye contact as his grin turned lopsided. “Fooling around with your boobs, like last time.”

“Well, that’s a good place to start.” She spread her legs, ensuring that he got an eyeful of her scant underwear. “But can you think of _anywhere else_ that might like a little attention?”

The kid stared but didn’t move. It was as if he’d never heard of foreplay. Truly, he had no concept of the level of nuance that a man has to apply himself to in order to arouse a woman; the strategy, the creativity, the perseverance. It’s easy for a woman, all she has to do is take her bra off and the work’s half done. Unfortunately, Gohan was naïve enough to think that the deal was the same vice versa.

He knew that he was expected to tend to her pussy but was hopelessly sketchy on the detail. I could almost hear the questions running through his mind - did she want to be stroked? Inside her panties or outside? Penetrated? How hard? How many fingers?

Lucky for him, my wife was a patient teacher.

She gestured with a curled index finger. “Come here.”

And without hesitation, he leaned forward, planting his hands either side of her torso and propping himself up as he covered her.

Gripping the back of his neck, she brought her face to the side of his and ran her tongue against his ear. “Touch me.”

His hand dipped between her legs, pressing until she moaned.

“Mmmmm…” She laid back. “…Harder.”

He began a slow rubbing motion; back and forth, back and forth. Then, threw a couple of circular movements in for good measure.

The woman’s eyes fell shut, she stretched her arms above her head and grasped handfuls of pillow. “That’s nice.”

Braver, and without instruction, he slipped his hand into her underwear and continued his ministrations skin to skin.

She laughed reassuringly. “Now you’re getting it.”

The praise thrilled him and at the same time, misled him to believe that he should carry on repeating the same movements over and over.

“You don’t have to stay in one spot,” she said. “Feel free to explore.”

A vertical crease appeared between the kid's brows and his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the firm yet tentative insertion of his middle finger into her cunt.

The exaggeration in her resulting gasp gave some farcical impression that she wasn't used to being entered and while he hung on every ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’, I almost had to stifle a snigger.

Her fingertip traced his jawline. “Do you like the way I feel?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re really wet.”

She tilted her pelvis, encouraging his touch to go deeper. “So, give me more.”

He retracted his hand, lined up his index and middle digits and pushed the two in together.

“Oh!…” She gasped (and that time she meant it). “Now, that’s more like it.”

With his hand contorted into a pretend gun, he fucked her with the barrel until, once again, she grew weary at being lavished with the same repetitive action.

“Put your thumb against my clit,” she said through rapid breaths.

He turned his wrist and did as she asked before quickly running into a little technical problem.

“Don’t stop!” Her husky voice was accompanied by the dramatic rise and fall of her chest.

“Sorry.” He said, while wrestling with her lingerie. “These are kind’ve in the way.”

She stroked the back of his wrist. “Then get rid of them.”

He freed his hand and began tugging at the fabric running over each hip.

“Not like that…” She pushed her hair back from her forehead and licked her bottom lip. “Rip them off.”

He blinked a few times. “Are you sure? They look expensive.”

“Damnit, Gohan!” Her fist made a dull thud as she pounded the sun lounger. “Just do it!”

He looked a little hurt, nevertheless, he hooked a finger into her gusset and made small work of decimating the flimsy material.

The moment her pussy was bared, she jolted. “Ah!...That never gets old.”

He was about to, once again, drive in knuckle deep when she reached up to stroke the bangs tumbling over his forehead.

“Wanna eat me?”

For a moment, he was dumbstruck but quickly shook it off. “…Sure, I’d love to.”

 _Sure, I’d love to?_ I repeated his words to myself and baulked at his nerdish ineptitude. Only he could make agreeing to go down sound like accepting an invitation to a book club.

Fortunately for him, the woman was too excited at the prospect of what he was about to do with his mouth to care how lame anything coming out of it sounded.

Chest down, face between her thighs, he tucked his hands under her hips and pushed his tongue into her puffy, wet layers.

“Oh, Gohan!.....” Her back and throat arched, her head fell to the side. “Mmm….mmm…yeah…..just relax your tongue a little, Honey….that’s it…ahh…faster….Oh yes!....softer….don’t stay in the same spot…..go back to my clit….”

I almost felt sorry for the kid. He was contending with the sexual equivalent of riding a mechanical bull and any time he hit the sweet-spot, she’d buck or writhe and he had to find it all over again.

“Do that thing you did at the beginning, but do it inside me.”

Bulma had never been shy about asking for what she wanted. As a rich, spoilt brat, it went with the territory but bossiness didn’t wash with me. In the throes of passion, she had often made demands – “Don’t come up yet, lick my pussy some more.”, “Talk dirty to me.”, “Let me go on top.” Sometimes I’d indulge her but mostly, my instincts drove me to dominate.

Gohan, on the other hand, kowtowed to her every utterance. And like an obedient little sub, he formed his tongue into a stiff hook and plunged it into her sopping depths.

She slotted her hands into his hair. “Ahhhh!”

As he went all out, the pressure of his mouth pushed her whole body backward by a few inches. A long, pitchy mewl was his reward for angling his head and screwing her with the full length of his tongue. Then, once the novelty of that little stunt wore off, she tugged at his shoulders. “Come back to me, Sweetie," she panted. "I’m ready for some dick.”

He unplugged his face from between her legs, knelt upright and went to wipe his mouth with the back of his wrist. But she sat up and stopped him with a series of hungry, she-cum clearing, kisses. One on the chin, one either side of his mouth, one above it. Finally, she Frenched him with such depth that he put the unfastening of his pants on hold. When she broke away to shed her top and bra, his expression was a picture of astonishment. Although, I couldn’t be sure whether he was marvelling at her tits or the fact that she enjoyed the taste of her own arousal.

She settled on her back and trailed a finger from his collar bone down to his navel. “Give it to me slowly, ok?”

He acknowledged with a slight nod and tipped forward. One nipple after the other disappeared up into his mouth while he mauled the surrounding mounds. Quiet and restrained, his suckling was infinitely more civilised than last time and he correctly judged when to stop - that fervid little moment just before she had enough. Pressing his forehead to hers, he pushed his hand between the crush of their bodies. A second later, his fist reappeared, hauling out a fat load of dick, the tip disappearing as he fed it to the sodden folds of her cunt.

“Ahhh!….” Raising her legs, she pointed her toes and rested her heels on the back of his thighs. “Mmmmm….Oh! Fuck! That’s soooo good!”

His mouth hovered over her throat, alternating kisses with little grunts as he rolled his hips, forging into her an inch at a time until he was balls deep.

“Mmnh!….Such a BIG boy!”

I’m sure the woman’s appreciation was genuine, but all of that sounding off was more for the benefit of Gohan’s ego than it was about expressing her pleasure. I didn’t mind a few vocal accompaniments during sex. However, I never much cared to listen when she fawned over my size or technique. And anyway, whenever I’d been on the job, I made sure that she became so breathless and overwhelmed that she lost the mental capacity to ply me with flattery.

I got the impression that the kid enjoyed the racket but other than boost his confidence, her gushing commentary did little to aid his performance.

He was all over the place. Sexual positions don’t get more basic than missionary, but because instinct alone drives without steering, he spent most of the fuck bucking and thrusting to an erratic rhythm.

The woman’s ragged breaths scattered in the air, against his neck, face and shoulders. “Ahgh!…” She placed her hands against his chest. “Do me a favour, Baby; keep it smooth, ok?”

His pace slowed almost to a stop while he had a rethink. Then, his hips began to rise and fall with a consistent yet calculated tempo. “Like this?”

“Don’t ask questions, Honey; just do it.”

He complied and she resumed her serpentine writhing. “Harder!”

Swift and enthusiastic, he got to it and owing to the oral stimulation from earlier, she came in great heaving breaths many seconds before him. 

Basking in the aftermath, they lay side by side in silence until Bulma’s dirty little craving kicked in.

She reached for her purse. “Mind if I smoke?”

“…No.” He said, slightly disheartened. “But I wish you didn’t. It’s really unhealthy.”

“I know, I know,” she said while rolling her eyes. “But it’s not as if I’m addicted. I just like one now and again.”

She often lit up in bed after sex. I hated it but she was a grown woman and I wasn’t in the business of sermonising.

Blowing out a dusky plume, she moved her hand in his direction. “Wanna try?”

He shook his head. “No thanks.”

How interesting, I thought. Screwing a married woman was fine, but a quick drag on a cigarette was a step too far? And I thought my moral compass was a mess.

They relaxed in each other’s arms and after a whole lot of sweet nothings and second hand smoke, they cleaned themselves up and left.

And once again, I was left to mull over their actions and my lack thereof.


	3. The Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta's misdirected attempt at helping Gohan master the art of lewd male humour ends up pushing the teenager further into Bulma's arms.

Bulma and I had f̶u̶c̶k̶e̶d̶ slept together once in the last three months. As far as dry spells went, that was considerably longer than average for us but neither she or I had cared enough to discuss it. Instead, we grew content to give each other the brush off. She blamed work and motherhood for making her tired and I used training as an excuse to keep my distance.

It seemed we were in unspoken agreement that, as long as we didn't address the ever-widening gap between us, we could pretend that everything was ok. By the time Gohan's interest had registered, I think we both felt relieved to fight over the way I teased him and finally have a legitimate excuse not to sleep together.

We failed, however, to take into account the effect that we were having on our son. Turned out, he was more perceptive than we gave him credit for.

During dinner, a couple of weeks before Bulma and Gohan's first fuck, Trunks looked up from his plate. "Why don't you two sleep together like Goten's mommy and daddy?"

His sheer candidness knocked me and Bulma for a loop. We locked eyes, silently deliberating over who should field his question. In the end, she gave a relenting sigh. "…Well, we uhh…We do sleep together…sometimes," she said. "It's just that me and Daddy do different things throughout the day and that means we end up going to bed at different times."

The explanation seemed to pacify the boy and to prove it to him, the woman and I took to sharing our bed once or twice a week (pyjama clad, back to back and purely to sleep).

Sometimes, even that proved too much of a stretch.

One evening, my mother-in-law informed us that she and her husband were turning in for the night. After kissing Bulma on the forehead, she made some off-hand comment about how the two of us should follow suit.

Brain-numbing nonsense droned away on TV and Bulma reassured her mother that we intended to go to bed just as soon as the show finished. Then, once we were alone, she changed her tune.

"Um, I just remembered," she said. "I have some emails to take care of. Don't wait up."

"Hadn't planned to," I said. "I'm going out."

"More nocturnal training?"

"Something like that."

Outside, I spent that and many other nights gazing up at the stars, longing for the old days when Nappa, Radditz and I tore across the universe, conquering planet after planet, reducing entire surfaces to ashes while the inhabitants begged for mercy - hordes of them, staring up at us, all bug eyed and dripping buckets of cold sweat.

Still, I remained coolly civilised with Bulma. A sentiment that I also extended, for the most part, to Gohan (even when the two of them were in the midst of their affair).

I say 'for the most part' because by the third week, things between the teenager and I took a peculiar turn.

Somewhere between the pool house tryst and the following Saturday, I decided that it would be prudent to carry out an acid test of sorts. I hadn't faced off against Gohan in ages and figured that since he had become intimately involved with my wife, there was a good chance that, sooner or later, we would come to blows. And so, I wanted to find out where he was in terms of fighting ability.

Much to everyone's surprise, I joined Bulma in greeting him and his little brother in the lobby. "Hey, Einstein," I said. "How about a sparring match? Nothing too heavy, an hour in the gravity room?"

"…Sparring?" He was too exasperated to dwell on the name-calling. "Sorry, I didn't bring my training gear."

"No problem." I glanced at Bulma. "Our resident fashion queen can help out on that front, right?"

She agreed but the two of them could barely hide their disappointment at the prospect of having fuck number three sabotaged. He looked at her as if to bail him out, to which she responded with a feeble smile and a shrug. And though his heart wasn't in it, he agreed to go with me.

I had deliberately sprung the invitation on him at the last second. If I'd asked in advance, he might have refused or told Kakarot (who may have decided to tag along) and, as much as I enjoyed my tussles with him, it was imperative that I had his son alone.

We got down to business in 100gs.

The hour, upon which we had originally agreed, went by in the blink of an eye and we ended up kicking the shit out of each other for twice as long. It started out almost playful, then, gradually the complex feelings we harboured towards each other in relation to our affection for the same woman, lent an altogether more vicious style to the fight.

Nevertheless, my pre-appraisal of him turned out to be accurate.

He wasn't the same hungry fighter that took out Cell single-handed. His punches were slowed and softened by a reluctance to throw them. He heavily favoured defence.

If the urge to take revenge had struck, would I have been victorious against him? Probably.

In that scenario, my knowledge of his affair with Bulma would have come to light; the shock and guilt of which, would have made him lose his head. Conversely, I would have had motive on my side – scorn, hatred.

There was, of course, the issue of Kakarot and the Namek to consider. They'd sense his distress, come running to the rescue and my chances of walking away would have slimmed considerably.

As it was, Gohan and I kept our emotions in check and by the end of our session, I had landed a few skin-splitting blows to his pretty face and he left my rib-cage feeling like Ox King had used me as a trampoline for a week.

I tossed a bottle of water to him. "Let's hit the showers."

* * *

Side by side, we stood under the hot downpour. He was the last person I wanted to be naked in front of and, judging by the horribly tense atmosphere between us, the feeling was mutual. But, like most men, I thought of communal showering as a sort of test of mettle; and, now more than ever, it seemed important to prove that I had no insecurities.

I tilted my head back under the rushing water and took a few moments to study him on the sly.

Despite being uncompromisingly heterosexual, I could see why the woman had so easily given in to temptation. Teenage bodies are a tactile delight and Gohan's was a prime example. His skin possessed an inviting quality; fair and unblemished, I almost wanted to reach up and stroke his cheek. He was a hybrid in every sense of the word. Half saiyan, half human, half man, half child; a muscle-bound warrior whose arm hair lacked the coarseness and density of a fully matured male and defied his raven black phenotype to glow blonde in the light. He was still young enough that he could go days between shaving and it would be a few years before his jaw squared off; even then, he would remain boyishly handsome, just like his father.

And speaking of Kakarot, it seemed he had passed on more than his physical attributes. Like him, his son radiated purity; as if he never swore or masturbated or had needed a filling in that sweet-talking mouth

As I continued to look at him, that undeserved angelic vibe triggered an urge. At first, I thought it may have been the first stirrings of righteous indignation, the likes of which I should have felt the second he touched my wife. Focusing in on it, I allowed it to grow but to my bewilderment, it failed to ignite. It did, however, simmer and I recognised it as something similar to the compulsion one has to trample over a pristine blanket of snow.

I imagine the woman had felt the same kind of thing right before she took his virginity.

"So," I said. "I hear you're dating."

"…What?" Gohan's reply was as blunt as a spoon.

He was too busy lathering his hair and body to pay me the attention I deserved but, to be fair, my statement had come so far out of left-field, he probably thought he had misheard me.

"You're seeing someone," I said, louder that time.

A flash of alertness crossed his eyes. "…Uh…Yeah, I am."

From the corner of my eye, I observed his dick. Low and heavy, it hung to its full flaccid length and I had a flashback of my wife, down on her knees, slobbering over it like a starving Doberman.

"Can I take it that congratulations are in order?" 

He cocked an eyebrow. "For what?"

"…For finally getting laid."

There was a long pause and I half expected him to flee. "…If it's all the same to you," he said. "I'd prefer not to discuss it."

"Fair enough," I said. "Wanna talk about football?"

He glanced at me suspiciously. "I'm not really into sports."

"That's what I thought," I said. "So let's stick to women."

He frowned. "I don't mean to be a jerk, Vegeta, but it's none of your business."

I paused for a moment, then smirked. "…It _is_ a woman, right?"

We locked eyes. "Of course! Why would you even ask that?"

I couldn't very well say ' _because cagey little fucks like you deserve to have their sexual orientation undermined.'_ Although, it was tempting.

"Absent father, overbearing mother; story of your life, right? Any psychiatrist will tell you it's a recipe for turning a boy queer. Besides, we didn't quite get as far as establishing which pronoun to use to describe your new flame."

Staring into the wall, he looked as if he had a mouthful of something bitter. "Alright then," he said. "To be clear, I'm seeing a woman. A beautiful, amazing woman, ok?"

The irritation in his tone caused my smirk to widen. "She obviously likes her men a little on the sensitive side."

His lathering slowed right down. "I'm not upset," he said. "I just don't appreciate having someone dig into my personal life for the sole purpose of making fun of me."

"Come on, Kid," I said. "You can't brag about having a _beautiful, amazing woman_ and not expect to be grilled about her in the locker room."

His face snapped towards me. "Since when?" His voice shrilled with undue exasperation. "You and the other guys never include me in stuff like that. You huddle together, talk about girls and tell dirty jokes, but clam up the second I come near."

It was true, and not just because of his tender age. Gohan was one of those people in front of whom it was impossible to let loose. He was too sheltered, too uptight. He had nothing to contribute. The others (Krillen, Yamcha, Tien etc) tried, from time to time, to float a little innuendo here, a sleazy remark there but the kid had one sense-of-humour-fail too many, so everyone stopped trying.

"…All of you still treat me like a little kid."

Aside from wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, I had started the conversation without a clear idea of where it might lead. If he had cracked and confessed to fucking Bulma, I don't know what I would have done.

The sharing of his grievances, however, stirred some malice within me. I still had a mental block over the affair situation, yet, the devil in me saw his social insecurities as fair game.

"Try and take it as a compliment," I said, striving to keep my tone sarcasm-free. "You're too classy to be subjected to our grim little tales of depravity."

"I'm the same as I ever was." He shrugged. "Only now, that gets me excluded."

He bellyached about an incident that happened several months ago at Roshi's birthday party. Apparently, Yamcha, Tien, Yajirobi and Korin were teasing Krillen about Eighteen but when Gohan went over, they fell silent.

"I knew it was some sort of sex joke," he said. "But they wouldn't tell me."

I let out a husky snigger. "I'll bet it was the one about how Krillen sets his robot wife's pussy to vibrate, right before he fucks her."

It didn't even put a dent in Gohan's poker face and I was met with nothing more than the sound of shower water fizzing like white noise.

My patience suddenly drained. "Do me a favour," I said. "If you're going to stand there with a face like a chapped cunt anytime someone dares to say a naughty word, don't complain when you get left out of the fun."

With a swipe of frustration, he ran his hand through his hair to make sure the last traces of shampoo were rinsed away and it looked as if he was rushing to finish up. I was about to do the same when he poised to speak.

"I'm sorry," he said, glumly yet wholeheartedly. "I'm not used to laughing at stuff like that."

His unexpected apology had a sobering effect upon me and, strangely, I found myself empathising with him (I recalled being his age and having to weather the foul-mouthed ranks of the Frieza Force).

I placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Listen, Kid," I said. "There's nothing to be scared of; it's harmless fun."

The closeness of our naked bodies must have rankled him because he looked at my hand as if he was going to bite it. "I'm not scared," he said. And in the pause that followed, he met my gaze in a distinctly challenging way. "It's just trash talk."

I released him. "That's the spirit." I switched off my shower. "In time, you'll catch on and end up turning the air blue with the rest of us." I grinned. "Afterall, the quiet ones often turn out to be the worst behaved of all."

And with that, I left him in silent contemplation. 

I was perfectly aware that I must have come off like some weird, letchy, Achillean bully. I didn't care. It felt good to knock him off-kilter, to intimidate and psyche him out. If he was going to screw my wife then a little teasing was the least he deserved. In any case, it couldn't have been that bad because he followed soon after.

Having resigned myself to the view that he didn't have a thick enough skin to engage in locker room banter, I made no effort to talk while we dried and got dressed. I tossed my towel in the hamper and noted the boy's body language. He swallowed and rubbed his face as he plucked up the courage to speak. "You don't need to condescend to me, Vegeta."

I paused. "What?"

He hesitated, awkwardly unsure of how to word his reply. "I might not have a whole bunch of _life experience_ but I know more than you think."

 _How cute_ , I thought. He was under the impression that two, quick, unmentionable fucks were enough to command some sort of respect. I decided to deny him the satisfaction of having me follow up his thinly veiled hint at having notches on his bed post and, instead, squared up to him and broke out the most benevolent smile I could muster. "…Fine." I said. "I apologise if I patronised you in any way."

His mouth twitched and he blinked several times in rapid succession. "…You mean it?"

"Sure," I said. "You were big enough to admit that you feel out of your depth with the smut that gets thrown around. That kind of honesty is refreshing." I watched him stoically. "It deserves respect."

He stared down at his boots as if willing the laces to untie just so he'd have an excuse to bend over and escape my eye line.

"This might sound stupid," he said. "But I'm still getting used to the idea that you and the other guys have an R rated sense of humour."

He explained that during childhood, he'd gleaned nothing other than a wholesome impression of the likes of Krillen, Yamcha and Tien. "I don't know how to fit in with them anymore," he said. "Seems like it's not enough to talk about fighting."

I laughed. It genuinely tickled me to think that he, or anyone else for that matter, should place so much value on the opinions of such a bunch of losers. "I'll level with you, Kid. You're not missing out on much. Most of what your dad's friends come out with is bullshit, the rest is wishful thinking."

"I thought as much," he said. "Still, I sort of wish I could join in."

"You just need some material to work with." I grinned. "That _amazing, beautiful_ woman of yours can help out on that front."

He looked away and clenched his fist around the hair at the back of his head while an insidious, yet perfectly formed, idea swam through my mine.

"…Of course," I said. "There are other sources."

"Other sources?"

I wound my arm around his shoulder. "Come with me," I said. "Let's go have some fun; and I promise to treat you just like one of the big boys."

* * *

We arrived in a seedy little back room affectionately known as 'the den'. It belonged to Bulma's father but that demented old coot had more or less abandoned it in favour of pottering around the garden and toying non-stop in his lab.

Quiet and dark, it was a strictly female-free zone with leather sofas, low level glass tables, cushy recliners and shelves of books about sports and war.

A mahogany liquor cabinet dominated the back wall – I'd never been much of a drinker, I hardly touched the stuff but, with what I had in mind, I felt that a tipple was in order.

I poured myself, and the boy, a large whisky though I didn't bother asking him whether he wanted it; peer pressure took care of that.

"Oh?…Uh…thanks." He paused his exploratory glancing to take the glass from me. "This is a cool room, Vegeta."

"It's about to get cooler."

I rummaged around at the back of the media cabinet, took out a movie and set my scheme in motion.

He had no idea what was coming. I'm sure he thought that a little underage drinking was as bad as it was going to get but that changed the instant I pushed a button on the TV remote.

The large wall mounted screen burst into life to show a woman in her late twenties (but dressed like a teenager) pottering around a pink bedroom, the following scene switched to a middle aged man drinking beer on a sofa.

Paralysis gripped Gohan. His mouth gaped while his eyebrows reached for the sky. He was obviously familiar with the film's sleazy premise.

I flopped back in a recliner and gestured at the one next to me. "Take a seat."

He perched like a germophobe taking a dump in a public bathroom.

"You like this kind of movie?" I asked.

"…Uh?...Sure, who doesn't?" His voice had risen by an octave or two and he spoke with a slight stammer.

Actually, in answer to his rhetorical question, I didn't. I found pornography tedious and over-staged. I'll admit, however, to watching it whenever I needed a little extra inspiration to fuck Bulma. The occasions when she gained weight, or acted like an insufferable bitch or, for whatever reason, didn't hold her usual appeal.

On the whole, I had become desensitised to the ham acted carnal shenanigans of adult entertainment but to sweet, seventeen-year-old Gohan? It was as if his spark of wonder had been doused in kerosene and every neuron in his brain was firing in both directions at once.

And while cheap thrills were an inevitable side effect, the aim wasn't to arouse him. My motives were more in line with those of a parent that discovers their child in possession of cigarettes and, as punishment, forces them to smoke a whole carton until they end up repulsed by the very thing that they had initially found so enticing.

To that end, I had selected something a little more extreme than the average porno.

There was an attempt at a storyline. A 'step-father' had invited a couple of friends over while he was home alone with his 'step-daughter'.

"…So," said Gohan. "Do you like to collect them or...?"

I had to bite my tongue to stop any insults from flying off the tip but, my God, was he ever asking for it. Naivety and nervousness aside, it takes a special kind of social retard to talk about porn movies as if possessing them was comparable to stamp collecting.

"They're not mine," I said. "They belong to Bulma's father."

"Really? Wow, I had no idea Dr Briefs was into this sort of thing."

"You mean sex? He made Bulma didn't he?"

_'Step-father' kissed 'step-daughter', holding her jaw firm to his before her head was pulled to the side to allow one of his friends the same pleasure._

The kid laughed nervously. "…Good point."

"And as you'll see." I said, "My father-in-law likes the hardcore stuff."

No doubt Gohan had dabbled in the world of the X rated. Perhaps he'd stolen a look at something from Roshi's collection, or had been enlightened by male classmates. But I was certain that, whatever kind of smut he'd got his hands on, it would have paled in comparison to the semi-incestuous spectacle playing in the den. 

_'Step-daughter's' tits were being mauled by more than one set of hands. She was begging for them to stop._

The boy's blush deepened by the second, "…Master Roshi would feel right at home in here…heh heh."

I took a sip of my drink. "Not just him," I said, overlooking his nerve induced petulance. "Most of your father's friends."

_Tits bared, skirt up, g-string on show._

I could almost feel Gohan's eyes boring into the side of my head. "…Uh?…Has my dad ever joined you in.."

"Of course not," I said, cutting him off. "Saint Kakarot's even more of a wet blanket than you."

_'Step-daughter' begged 'Daddy' for help as she was bear hugged by one man and had her thighs forcibly spread by another._

"But," I said. "Krillen, Yamcha, Tien, Yajirobi, even that fat white cat, like to pile in here and let the good times roll."

_G-string pushed aside, thick fingers dove in from every angle to mess with her clit and fill her pussy._

Gohan squirmed, glancing between me and the screen. It was unrealistic to think it possible to ruin sex for him forever, although, it was something of a consolation prize that, in the short to mid-term future, he would look back on our time in that creepy little room and cringe at the inappropriateness of getting a hard-on while sitting right next to me. 

"In fact, this is one of Krillen's favourites," I said. "He borrowed it once. Had it for three years. He only brought it back because his wife refused to have it in the house after squeezing out their brat."

_Three fingers in the screaming 'step-daughter's' cunt, one in her ass, and someone was going at her clit like he was trying to put out a fire with his tongue._

"Guess I'm lucky to have Bulma," I said, as Gohan stared slack-jawed. "She's highly strung, but not when it comes to screwing."

The kid's eyebrows furrowed and his face went rigid. As the mock gang-rape played out, we sat in silence – strained, skin crawling, silence. On screen, 'step-daughter' was spread eagled, fucked hard by one man after another. Choking, gurgling, her mouth was crammed with whichever dick didn't happen to fill her pussy at the time.

"Speaking from experience," I said. "Most of the stuff that guy's doing to his 'step-daughter' makes Bulma gush like a broken fire hydrant."

Ligaments in Gohan's jaw pulsed, he quaffed the whisky, and his pupils darted like a pinball as he took in the sight of every thrust, every tit jiggle, every dribble of she-cum hanging loose from 'step-daughter's' cock-riven labia.

Defaming Bulma had been a spur of the moment thing. But when I saw how uncontrollably upset Gohan became, I had a perverse desire to goad him all the more. And the next opportunity came when the actors started to fuck doggy style. "That's exactly how she likes it." I laughed. "Like an animal."

He stared into his glass but before he could get lost in its golden depths, I regained his attention.

"You should take notes, Kid," I said. " _Your woman_ will thank you for it, some day." I felt my smirk cut into my cheek. "Oops, there I go, condescending to you again. For all I know, you already fuck like a pro."

By that point, the boy had become too overwhelmed to ask questions or respond to my commentary. His escape was barred by the fear of looking weak in front of me, the film's skilfully executed debauchery had him reflecting on his own sexual incompetence and I gloried in every moment of his wide-eyed tensity.

On and on the wretched nonsense went. It had been a few years since I'd watched it but I remembered what lay ahead and fizzed with anticipation when the male actor pulled out of the female's stretched and sodden cunt.

Gohan's back straightened. He swallowed. There was a long, deep thrust and then a closeup shot of 'step-daughter's' ass chock full of dick.

He glanced at me, expecting to hear Bulma's feelings on the act at hand. But I simply continued to smile and left him hanging. It didn't stop him from wondering, though. That's the _icky_ thing about anal, it's one form of penetration that a man can imagine and when he dared to think of all those tricky pain and hygiene issues, he cracked soon after.

"Does…does Bulma like that too?"

I guess after my previous spate of oversharing, I only had myself to blame for him thinking it was ok to pry into my wife's sexual preferences. Still, I felt pissed at his bare faced nerve. The sharing of such intimate details should have been my choice and not at his behest. Nevertheless, it was a good opportunity to take another big slice out of his innocence.

"No," I said.

With discreet relief, Gohan deflated.

"…But that's never stopped me." I grinned at him as if he was a pretty girl that I was trying to pick up in a bar. "The worst part is trying to ignore her when she shrieks."

Without intending it to, my sleazy boastfulness doubled up as an assertion of my sexual propriety over Bulma. And while I absorbed, what should have been, a sharp reminder imperturbably like a pin cushion, Gohan appeared alarmed and shaky; as if he'd just been told a loved one had died.

"…Um… I'm gonna go now." He stood. "Thanks for the drink and…uh…everything else."

He abandoned his whisky on the side table and fled.

I raised my glass. "Anytime, kid."

* * *

I had a neat trick. Years ago, I realised that if I formed a ball of benign energy and planted it to the spot, it could serve as a decoy and fool anyone sensing for me. Meanwhile, if I lowered my power level, I was free to walk around undetected.

That's how I was able to leave the den, follow Gohan to the kitchen…and watch my attempt to fuck with his head backfire.

Bulma was emptying the dishwasher when he dashed over and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey!" She giggled as he kissed her. "Are you," they kissed again. "Ok?" Her nose wrinkled. "Have you been drinking whisky?" Their final kiss was longer than the previous two.

She noted the slight bruising on his face along with the cut through his eyebrow; both of which I had inflicted during our earlier training session. "Sweetie?" She stroked his face."What happened? Did you get hurt in the gravity room?

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it; it's nothing, really."

"Wait there," she said. "I'll get something to put on it."

"No, Bulma." He held her firm. "I need to talk to you."

"What is it, Honey?" Her eyebrows arched. "You look terrified."

There was a long pause. "Has Vegeta ever made you do stuff you didn't want to do?"

She drew back from him. "What are you talking about?"

And without an ounce of respect for the bro-code, the rat bastard squealed about all the sex banter, hard liquor and porn I'd shared with him.

Bulma frowned and clenched her fists. "Just WAIT until I see him!"

"I don't care about his stupid porno movies," said Gohan. "I just hated hearing him brag about…"

He couldn't even say it. So, he dropped his hand to her ass.

"…Hurting you here."

"Oh, Honey." She sighed, and drew her arms around his shoulders. "Out of all the years he and I have been together, we've done _that_ maybe four times."

Five, actually.

"Did you want it though?" He asked with a quiver in his voice.

"Well..." She stared upward to rack her memory. "It's not my favourite bedroom activity but I think I must have been drunk each time. To be honest, I can't even remember what happened."

He looked about ready to cry.

"Sweetie?" She caressed his cheek. "Look who you're talking to. It's me, Bulma, remember? You think I'd ever do anything against my will? I'm hardly known for being a people pleaser."

"It's wrong." He snivelled. "He shouldn't have done that if you didn't like it."

Sure, I'd made it sound worse for the purpose of effect but I resented the way she failed to put him in the picture. I guess she wanted to appear more innocent than she actually was and by letting him think that I'd ridden roughshod up her ass, she wouldn't have to confess to enjoying (at least some) of what had actually happened. Incidentally, she came every single time. In fact, I had almost given myself carpal tunnel syndrome from reaching around and tending to her clit.

"He had no right sharing something so personal!" She frowned. "Look how much he's upset you!"

The kid pressed his forehead to hers and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I hate him…Why are you with him?"

Moany little fuck, I could have said the same damn thing about him.

Bulma sighed and gripped his shoulders. "Don't do this to yourself, Sweetheart."

"It's because he's good in bed, isn't it?"

She threw her head back and laughed. "Well, it helps! At least, it used to. We haven't slept together in months."

"Why not?"

I straightened.

"That's a difficult question," she said, toying with the charm on her necklace. "I guess there are lots of little reasons that all add up." Every last trace of jest evaporated and she gazed solemnly at nothing in particular. "It's getting no answer when I ask a question, it's being left hanging when I tell a joke, it's going to parent teacher meetings alone, it's having no one to talk to after Trunks goes to bed, it's not getting a compliment when I get my hair done."

 _It's seducing a seventeen-year-old boy right in front of me._ That's right, I had a list too.

"I could go on and on," she said.

"Do you think that, one day, you'll leave him?"

"Oh, Sweetie…I can't answer that. We're married. He's Trunks' father."

"…What did you ever see in him?"

She leaned back against the counter top and stared into the ceiling lights. "Once I was able to get past all the scary, evil stuff, I guess I started to focus on the rest of him. He's a handsome guy; great body, amazing eyes. I even fell for that cocky smirk of his." She laughed fondly. "Vegeta was the ultimate bad boy and when I was younger, it was the kind of thing that thrilled the hell out of me."

Gohan pouted. "Guess I'll never thrill you then, I'm nothing like that."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "You can't compare yourself to him."

"But he knows how to make you hot, how to make you cum without needing to be told what to do."

"He has years of experience on you! You'll catch up." She reached down to the front of his sweatpants to fondle his dick. "Afterall, it's not like he has anything you don't."

"It's not all about that though." He caught her wrist and drew her hand away from his groin. "It's his attitude, the way he talks, everything. I wish I knew how he does it."

"Vegeta just has this way of…getting inside my head," she said. "He pushes my buttons. All at once he scares me to death and makes me feel safer than anyone else in my life ever has."

She stopped when it sounded too much like she'd paid me a compliment too many.

"…It doesn't matter." She sighed. "He and I aren't in a good place anymore and if it wasn't for Trunks…I think we'd have gone our separate ways a long time ago."

I reassured myself that she was doing nothing more than pacifying Gohan but, I'll admit, that woeful little speculation stung like an adder's bite.

At least, among all the whining. the woman had made one good point; we had a child and he was a joint priority. Besides, any emotional discomfort I felt soon evaporated, leaving behind a sickly residue when she extended her hospitality.

The kid nuzzled her neck while she stroked his hair. "Want to sleep over tonight? Goten too. I'll call your mom and tell her Trunks wants both of you to stay." She leaned back and cupped his face. "…And later, you can come to bed with me; we'll spend the whole night together."

"Really?" He spoke with stark enthusiasm. "I'll stay even if Mom says no!"

The absurdity of their relationship was never more apparent. How, in the name of Dende's green balls, could the same woman that fell for me also fall for some snivelling, weak minded pussy that winced at porn and had to get his mommy's permission to stay away from home? I couldn't stand to watch any longer.

The infidelity I was numb to, but the infantilization made me sick.

* * *

It was after midnight when I checked on Trunks. He and Goten were flat out on their backs sleeping like the dead.

And though it was a cardinal sin of parenting, I compared my son to Kakarot's. Reproduction was yet another front on which he had outdone me; he had two boys, I had only one. With their coarse black hair and dark eyes, his pair could easily pass for full blooded saiyans whereas my silky haired, blue-eyed hybrid fell far short of my race's breed standard. His coloring left me both bemused and disappointed and at birth, had I not seen his tail for myself, I'd have questioned his paternity; maybe even drowned him.

At any rate, I looked upon him as a project and I was going to make sure that nothing stood in the way of him growing up as strong as I could possibly make him.

I left his bedroom through the window rather than the door and was about to fly away when I heard some moaning from further along the building.

Earlier in the evening, I heard Gohan express some concern over my whereabouts. "What if Vegeta comes home and finds us in bed together?"

Bulma waved dismissively. "He'll be out in the desert all night. Honestly, he hasn't been near the bedroom in ages." She went on to reassure him that she would lock the door and, therefore, buy enough time for him to fly out the window in the event I made an unexpected return.

I leapt from ledge to ledge, suppressing my power, until I landed by the source of the noise. Sure enough, as per their little escape plan, the pane had been left open a crack but when I peered in, it became apparent that Gohan would have stood no chance of getting away in time if, indeed, I had chosen that moment to f̶o̶r̶c̶e̶ use the door.

Curtains swaying in the breeze, the room and its contents were cast in moonlight. Bulma sat astride the boy; sheets bunched around her hips, flowing from her lower back like a wedding dress train. Head tipped back, hair swinging between her shoulder blades, nipples stabbing into the dark, she rode him. Undulating, up and down; no lazy grinding, thighs straining, pussy milking his cock while he lay flat like a corpse on a mortician's slab. The vigour with which she fucked, shunted him back and forth, dishevelling his hair against ~~my~~ his pillow while heavy breaths escaped his parted mouth.

Ever the clueless chump, he allowed his arms to rest lifelessly at his sides. It was left to Bulma to take hold of his hands and run them up her rocking body until he cottoned on and started massaging her tits in slow, rounded handfuls.

I shivered when she leaned back and rested her palms on his thighs. Whenever I had been beneath her like that, I relished that change in her posture; the way it stretched my cock (and allowed me to see myself penetrating her) was nothing short of glorious.

But, with his eyes closed, Gohan missed the boat.

Had he bothered to open them, his pleasure would have been boosted by the many visual stimulants that my wife provided. Her beautiful face, hourglass figure, bouncing tits, her designer bikini wax beneath which her clit, and its surrounding layers, stretched like a pink rainbow around his cock. But no, he opted to get lost in his own little dream world instead.

Before I could ask myself why the mechanics of their lovemaking bothered me more than the immorality of it, they showed signs of wrapping up.

Her pace slowed, she landed hard, he sank his fingertips into her hips and bucked to bury himself to the hilt as they came together in a sinful, gluey baptism of my marital bed.

I didn't hang around to witness their post-coital kissing. The mind clearing desolation of the wilderness was calling, so, I jumped to the ground, walked a few miles to avoid being sensed, then took off into the night to answer it.


	4. Book Keeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks is displeased when Gohan moves into Capsule Corp.

It’s amazing what a person can normalise. When I was a very young child, I shook with agony anytime someone grabbed my tail. The nerve endings lit up and sent jolts of white hot pain to my spine and I would fall to the floor begging for mercy until I was released.

Tail desensitisation was so hellish that no one judged those that refrained from taking part.

I had no choice in the matter.

And it fell to my guardian, Nappa, to do the deed. 

As part of my training, he would hold me down – grabbing, pulling and twisting my tail until I screamed blue murder.

“Sorry, Prince Vegeta,” he said, with a grin. “You’ll thank me in the long run.”

Eventually, I grew too strong for him to handle alone and so, he had to rope in a few friends to help. And by 'help', I mean four high ranking warriors would kick, punch and blast me into submission, pin me to the floor and assault my tail with heedless abandon.

The worst was having someone wrap their fist around it and scrape the fur back on itself. Whenever it happened, I threw up and there were a few times I nearly choked to death on my own vomit. But little by little, year upon year, the pain diminished.

And then, one day, around seven years old, I woke up and felt nothing. Nappa even got the pliers on it while I smiled unflinchingly.

“Well done!" He grinned. "Didn’t I tell you it would be worth it in the end? Now nothing can hurt you.”

As for what had been responsible for my emotional numbing? I suppose the answer was multifaceted and made up of everything else that life had thrown at me. Afterall, it’s not as if my wife’s unfaithfulness was the first time I’d ever been stabbed in the back. I was used to it. Hell, until she fucked Gohan, I didn’t think there was room left for any more knives.

In fact, when Bulma and I first started sleeping together, the details of my torturous past had proven a source of fascination to her. She usually enquired when I was at my most susceptible. While laying together, our bodies still twitching from orgasm, the sweat upon us still hot, she’d ask about my childhood and time served in Frieza’s army. Sometimes, I flat out refused to talk about it. But on the occasions that I opened up, she rested her head on my chest and listened attentively while I indulged her with tales about growing up on Frieza’s ship, the planets I’d conquered and the brutality I’d endured and inflicted. She ran her fingertips over my battle scars and shivered as I told her the agonising origin story of each and every one. For sure, the intimacy of it all brought us closer together but she fell under the impression that raking up the past somehow helped me, that it was _therapeutic_. Her sentiments were sweet enough but I’d argue that she found my trips down memory lane far more beneficial than I did.

Knowing how severely I’d been made to suffer meant that she could feel less guilty about the immense enjoyment she got from screwing a violent, murderous, psychopath.

By any objective standard, two wrongs don’t make a right but Bulma had always been unscrupulously selective in her morals.

Three weeks into our relationship, she writhed beneath me, panting at my neck, tonging my ear and taking the lobe between her teeth. “Tell me what you would have done to me on Namek if Krillen hadn’t given you the dragon ball.”

I slipped my hand over her neck, thumb and index finger spanning beneath her chin in a strangle hold. “I’d have torn the midget’s head off, shoved my dick down his throat, lubed up in his blood and fucked you in the ass so hard that Shenron would've needed to grant two wishes to heal you.”

She gasped, then laughed and came. Minutes later, she turned those big blue eyes on me. “Did you ever once feel bad for killing so many innocent people?”

I was thrown by the way she got off on depravity one second only to crave saintliness the next.

“Guilt is an awfully unhelpful emotion,” I said.

Back then, she sneered at my answer but as I watched her fuck Gohan for the fourth time, I’d wager she’d come around to my way of thinking.

It was nothing special. Vanilla sex in one of the guest rooms.

I arrived on the window ledge too late to catch any foreplay. The curtains hadn't been closed properly which led me to surmise that they had been in somewhat of a rush to get straight down to business. They hadn't even bothered to undress for the occasion. Her top was open, tits spilling over her bra cups while he ground away between her splayed thighs. He still wasn’t quite in the swing of it but he was thrusting into her with a great deal more regularity than last time. 

The quality of his performance made no difference to me. I remained unmoved and came around to the idea that after watching them fuck four times, my feelings weren’t likely to change any time soon. Why then, did I bother to spy? 

Simple book keeping. 

Monitoring their antics was unpleasant to say the least but from it, I derived a sense of control. And in spite of my apparent apathy, surveillance became my talisman against their deception.

Since my time in the den with Gohan, the atmosphere between us had grown strained. He turned up the following Saturday but struggled to look me in the eye and only just managed to squeak a quick “..hi..” in passing. 

His reluctance to interact became such an issue that Bulma took it upon herself to step up and serve as his spokesperson. “Hey,” she said, when we happened to pass each other. “You need to make more of an effort with Gohan;. He thinks that you don't like him."

Awash with amusement and sarcasm, I crossed my arms and played along. "Whatever gave him that impression?"

"You mean, apart from the way you went to town on him in the gravity room and traumatised him with locker room talk and dirty movies?"

“If he has a problem with me, why can't he tell me himself?”

“You’re not exactly the most approachable person in the world,” she said. “Anyway, who cares? I’ve told you now so that’s the end of it.”

What she didn’t tell me was that, effective immediately, Trunks and Goten’s Saturday afternoon play dates would turn into extended sleepovers that started on Friday night and went on until Sunday evening.

My mother in law was delighted. “I just love havin' guests stay with us.” She placed a hand on Gohan’s back as he stood next to her at the kitchen sink, drying dishes. “Especially when they’re so cute.”

“It’s really nice of you to have us,” he said. “Lately, I’ve had so many homework assignments that I’m not much fun for Goten. It’s great that he can have some extra time here with Trunks.”

The two little boys in question were thrilled with the new setup; especially when Bulma lifted all screen time limits. Gone were the days when they had to drop the tablet or video game handset every half hour. They were allowed to binge on movies, TV shows and all manner of digital junk for hours at a time so as not to disturb her and the teenager when they sloped off to fuck on a shelf in the pet supply store-room. Or when she got down on her knees and sucked him off in the hallway.

* * *

Bulma didn’t have a proper job per se. She dabbled in the family business. But in order to maximise her contact with Gohan, she donned her lab coat, hid in her office, and pretended to work just so she could be on standby, all day, Monday through Friday to take his calls and messages.

From what I could gather, there was no substance to their exchanges. He got in touch between classes to tell her that he missed her, was thinking about her, had a hard-on all through third period because of her. 

But all those little communications added up and kept her busy until it was time to collect Trunks from school. And as much as she loved our son, she opted to engage with the messaging app on her cell phone instead of with him. She increasingly relied on her mother to fix his afterschool snack while she disappeared to contact Gohan. At dinner time, she made a half hour appearance followed by a quick check of Trunks’ homework then got straight back to her phone until his bed time.

After the Son brothers’ first weekend-long stopover, I ended up so far down on her priority list that it was three days before she and I crossed paths.

She strolled into the kitchen on Wednesday afternoon. “Oh, Hi,” she said.

I acknowledged with a nod from where I sat at the island and, to my surprise, she came to join me.

She perched on the stool next to mine. “Feels like ages since I’ve seen you.”

I closed my magazine to focus on her. “Guess we’ve both been busy.”

“Trunks finishes school soon,” she said. “Wanna come with me to pick him up?”

“Not particularly.”

She drummed her fake nails on the countertop a few times. “Fine, can we at least talk? Something’s come up.”

A mild pang of anticipation fluttered through my gut as I waited for her to go on.

“Trunks’ teacher called yesterday.” A worrisome look crossed her face. “She said that he hasn’t been doing so well in math recently.”

It should have been the start of a constructive conversation but something childish and spiteful took possession of my tongue. “Gohan’s a math whiz. Maybe we should ask if he’s available to hire as a tutor."

Her eyebrows arched and I primed for her to come back at me with something equally facetious. Instead, her gaze drifted off to the side as she lost herself in thought. “…Hmm.”

“You can’t possibly think I was being serious.”

She propped her elbow on the countertop and rested her head in her hand. “Well, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“…But, impractical, surely,” I said, trying to hide my astoundment at being taken literally. “Didn't he mention that he was snowed under with his own school work?” A smirk tugged at my mouth. “And we wouldn’t want to hijack his spare time or he’d never get to see, what’s-her-name, Videl.”

A coy look beset her eyes and her smile curled ever so slightly with contempt. “Oh that,” she said. “I don’t think it’s anything serious.”

Gohan obviously didn’t think so either because by the end of the week, he had practically moved in under the guise of my son’s live-in tutor.

I was so resigned to the fact that it was a flimsy excuse to increase the fuck fest that I didn’t even bother to point out that if neither Bulma or I (both highly intelligent people) could help our six year old with the basic level of mathematics expected of him, then we had no business being parents.

Still, out of the facade, a golden moment arose that made me snigger.

One afternoon, Gohan sat with Trunks to help him with homework and Bulma shared, what she believed was, the correct method of working out multiplication problems…only to be shot down in flames by her young lover.

“That’s not the way they want kids to work it out these days,” he said. “It’s different than when you were at school all those years ago.”

He hadn’t meant to insult her by any means. However, the look of horror on her face was priceless. In highlighting how much older and out of touch she was, their incompatibility as a couple was brought to the forefront in all its cringeworthy glory.

When I stopped to think about it, I couldn’t recall a single meaningful conversation between them. As they played out their mutual infatuation, they relied on nothing more than small talk and babble that started with the words 'remember when...' (the lowest form of conversation) to fill the space which preceded their affectionate yet unwieldy sex.

Over the weeks that followed, they fucked all over the house. On Bulma’s drafting table in the design lab, the kitchen counter, a couple of window sills, and the top of the washing machine while it was on its rinse cycle.

Their choice of unconventional locales wasn’t so much about _spicing up_ the affair. It was to stay out of sight of Trunks during those times when he was at home and they couldn’t keep their hands off one another.

But, as considerate as that was, it didn’t stop my son harbouring suspicions.

“Dad? Why is Gohan here all the time?”

I found it interesting that he waited until his mother was out of the way before asking me instead of her. It was as if he knew that her fondness for the teenager would preclude her from giving an honest answer.

To be fair, it wasn’t as if I could tell him the truth either. So, I did that shitty, cowardly thing that parents in my position often do and dished the blame.

“Because you’ve been slacking off at school.”

It left a bad taste in my mouth but in order to protect him, I had to throw him off the trail. And I figured if I could convince him that Gohan’s presence was down to him, it might have prevented any follow up questions.

He shook his head. “Nuh-uh! Teacher says I’m doing good now!”

“Well," I said. "If that’s your idea of grammar, Teacher needs to buck up her ideas.”

He gazed solemnly and tugged at the drawstrings of his hoodie. “I just miss when it was you, me and Mom. I like Gohan but I don’t wanna see him every day.”

That day, the teenager had accompanied Bulma to go grocery shopping. She had made a big deal out of needing help to carry the bags and, like a good little lap dog, he leapt at the chance to assist. Consequently, what should have been a two hour job, took twice as long. And, having shadowed them on previous shopping excursions, I knew the delay was caused by them taking the long way home (stopping off in the countryside to fuck in the car; or, when the weather allowed for it, the woods).

Separation anxiety was taking its toll but Trunks knew better than to expect comfort from me. In the past, whenever he’d ended up hurt or sad, I’d scold rather than soothe. “It’s just a scratch! Get up!” I’d snap. “Are you a girl? No? Then quit crying!”

Ordinarily, his issues seemed so ridiculously insignificant that I couldn’t even fake concern. But real pain shows up in children’s eyes as glaringly as marinara sauce on a white shirt. And while he tried hard to do right by me and not let on the true extent to which he missed his mother, my heartstrings felt well and truly pulled. 

I ruffled his hair. “Get changed, we’ll go train.”

* * *

Trunks responded well to my efforts to distract him and was in his element when we trained together. New moves thrilled him, every incremental increase in speed and strength made him swell with pride, and he was relentless in his attempt to win my just-out-of-reach approval. Not only was he strong, he was intelligent too. But that shrewdness he so often demonstrated, meant that I had to keep him preoccupied or risk having him figure out that Bulma and Gohan were more than just friends. 

Though impressed with my son, I found that I struggled with spending extended amounts of time with him. An hour here and there was fine but I'll admit, I was no good with kids. He'd talk about the crap he watched on TV or the latest toy fad that had caught on at school and leave me at a loss for words. I also had little to no patience for his horse-play and nonsense jokes. But throughout it all, I reminded myself that my extra childminding duties would only last until the day Bulma saw the error of her ways. 

Her age-gap fling had a shelf life and, sure enough, it wasn’t long before the cracks began to appear.

One afternoon, she roped her parents into taking Trunks to his mid-week soccer practice so that she and Gohan could have some time alone in the pool house.

Of course, they weren't alone. They never were.

My hiding spot behind a row of plastic trees granted me a side-on view of them fucking doggy style under the canopy of the big sun lounger.

Naked, the woman sprawled before him, back sloped, ass in the air, chest down, weight on her elbows. When he retracted, much of his dick remained inside her, a solid bar of flesh bridging the gap between their bodies, and every cunt filling thrust, inched her back and forth. 

The squeak and crackle of the rattan furnishing set my teeth on edge. It had become one of their favourite mating spots and I had grown to hate the sight of the damn thing; it looked like a giant picnic hamper splattered with cum stains reminiscent of sun-dried mayonnaise.

Eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, Gohan’s face was frozen into a look of concentration. His grip tightened on her hips, pinning her hind quarters firmly in place so that her pussy met the long, thick invasion of his cock and took it right up to the hilt. The kid had learned to pace himself; gliding in and out rather than pushing and pulling with jerky irregularity and for that, the woman seemed appreciative. Overwhelmed, yet appreciative. She pressed her face into the upholstery, muffling her cries until it became too much to contain them. Reaching fever pitch, she turned her head to howl against her forearm.

His final thrusts were harder, slower and deeper than any beforehand. Then, in a somewhat impressive display of sexual synchronisation, they came together. She pushed back against him, bawling and gasping while jizz dripped from her cunt and along her inner thighs like hot wax down a candle.

It could have been so perfect, were it not for Gohan’s thoughtlessness.

Standing over six feet tall, he weighed twice as much as Bulma but failed to take that into consideration when he flopped forward to give her, what I presumed was meant to be, a hug.

At the sound of her yelp, he rolled off and all post orgasmic pleasure evaporated in the wake of panic.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Oh my God! Are you ok?”

Vigorously, she rubbed the base of her spine. “It’s my back!”

“I’m so sorry!”

She curled into a foetal position, facing away from him, so that she could scowl without him seeing. “It was an accident, I’ll be alright.”

He got dressed in a hurry while Bulma continued to lay in a tableau of pain. 

The sadistic, cold-hearted bastard in me was glad that he’d hurt her and spoiled the ending of their lovemaking. But from some soft corner of my being, something else manifested. A do-gooding fantasy of going over to tend to her. In fact, it became more than a fantasy and blossomed into a longing. 

And if Gohan hadn’t been the one to bundle her up in a towel and carry her to bed, it would have been me.

* * *

That night, Gohan didn’t make his usual light-footed journey from the guest bedroom to Bulma's. I wondered whether the decision to sleep separately had been a joint one and, if not, which one of them had rebuffed the other.

The following morning, after he and Trunks had left for school, I dropped in to pay the woman a visit.

Laying face down in her pillows, she was barely able to lift her head when she heard the bedroom door open. “Gohan?”

“…Afraid not.”

Upon recognising my voice, her eyes snapped open. “Oh? Sorry…ignore me, I’m on some pretty strong pain killers. I…uh…hurt my back.”

I walked toward her. “I know.”

“Mom’s taking care of dinner tonight,” she said. “And she’s fixing Trunks’ after-school snacks. Can you get them out of the fridge for him when he comes home?”

“Sounds easy enough,” I said. “But I’m not here to enquire about this evening’s menu.”

“Really? Then what?” She suddenly looked incensed. “You haven’t destroyed the gravity room again, have you? Because if you have then you’re in for a long wait until I…”

She flinched when I pulled the covers down to reveal her bare back.

“What’re you?....Ah!”

My touch stunned her into silence and she twisted her head around as far as possible to look at me.

Dragging my fingertips over her lower back, I drew a circle. “Is this where it hurts?”

“…Uh-huh.” 

I settled next to her and continued to rub and massage the afflicted area. At first, she stiffened under my touch but in less than twenty seconds, she decompressed; relaxing enough to let out a sigh of contentment and close her eyes. “…Aren’t you going to ask how I did it?”

“No doubt you were up to something…precarious.”

“You could say that.” She sighed. “I was rearranging furniture in the pool house.”

My eye twitched at the effortlessness with which she lied. I suppose it was made somewhat easier for her by the inclusion of truth about her location at the time of injury.

“You think we should redecorate in there?” She asked.

“What for?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “It looks kinda tacky.”

“Well,” I said. “Considering how it’s utilised, I’d say _tacky_ suits it just fine.”

She hesitated. I sensed fear.

“…What?”

“Trunks fills the pool with toys and splashes around like a deranged guppy while you lay back on a sun lounger, skimming through some sleazy novel to get to the sex scenes. The place hardly warrants a makeover to rival the Sistine Chapel.”

And in that instant, all her tenseness returned with a vengeance, gripping her like rigamortis. “I don’t JUST read the sex scenes! What do you take me for? Some kind of sad pervert?”

“No,’ I said. “You’re just someone that takes her thrills wherever she can find them.”

“Can you blame me?” She sighed despairingly. “Reading about romance is the closest I’m ever going to get to having it in my life.”

“ _Romance?_ ” I sneered. “Since when were you interested in such contrived, pretentious bullshit?”

She hugged her pillow. “…Maybe, I’ve finally realised how much I like it.”

I traced the path of her spine.

“I know you, Woman, and that’s not what gets you off.”

“What do you know?” She murmured. “You haven’t _got me off_ in ages.”

I was about to tell her that could change there and then, if she wanted it to, but her cell phone rang. And even though I couldn’t see the caller’s details on the screen, I knew it was Gohan.

“…Um?...Thanks for the back rub," she said. "It felt great. But do you mind if…”

Before she could ask me to leave, I got up and headed for the door. And although I made it out, I failed to close it before she answered the call.

“…I’m ok, Honey…I miss you too….”


	5. Bad Boy 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks and Gohan clash.

Sometimes, I thought about killing Gohan.

During those little flights of fancy, there was no anger, no big dramatic confrontations or epic speeches. Just casual murder. No different than getting rid of a fly or wasp that had been too stupid to find the nearest open window and leave of its own accord. 

I envisioned myself stunning the teenager by firing a few million volts through his temple. After which, I’d break his neck, drag his lifeless body outside and burn it along with the piles of crisp autumn leaves that I’d raked in the garden.

But I knew, in practice, it would have achieved nothing. He’d go down swinging and I’d crawl home with holes in my hide to what? A hateful, bitter woman that would have never forgiven me. And that’s not even taking into account what kind of payback Kakarot would have unleashed.

Ending Gohan’s life simply wasn’t worth the backlash. 

I seemed to be coping adequately with the status quo and, in any case, I had my son to think of. Sentimentality aside, I had invested a lot of time in training him and hated to think that my efforts thus far had been in vain. He was superior to Kakarot’s youngest and since I wanted that to remain the case, I decided to stay the course. 

Traditionally, in saiyan culture, fatherhood consisted of little more than planting the seed then standing back. If the baby wasn’t sent to conquer some distant planet, his parents provided for him until he was able to look after himself; and it wasn’t unheard of for saiyan boys to leave home at five or six years of age.

It was different for girls. They were usually kept close. The pretty ones were highly prized as trophy wives and the ugly ones made good slaves; either way, there was money to be made by marrying them off to the highest bidder.

The intense affection with which humans smothered their young, still confused the hell out of me and the tolerance shown for their offspring’s bad behaviour often left me speechless. As it was the norm on Earth, I had no choice but to go along with it for the most part. But my kid minded his manners in front of me and knew to sit still in a damn restaurant because if he didn’t, I’d hit him so hard that he saw stars and heard bells.

Discipline, however, was not at the forefront of my mind during Bulma and Gohan’s affair. About two months in, the woman’s constant physical and emotional unavailability began to have a detrimental effect on Trunks.

By then, the teenager was staying with us seven days a week. He went to school, visited his parents, did his little stint as Trunks’ tutor and when it wasn’t practical to romance Bulma at Capsule Corp, the two of them went out on the town.

It was all cleverly orchestrated. In front of my son and in-laws, Gohan made out that he was going off to fight crime or meet up with friends, then he’d wait down the road for the woman to catch up. Most of the time, the ruse went off without a hitch. But it wasn’t always plain sailing.

One afternoon, she was about to leave when Trunks wrapped his arms around her waist. “Please don’t go,” he whined. “You already went out three times this week!” He squeezed harder. “I need you.”

“It’s for work!” She ~~lied~~ said. “You want nice toys and clothes and vacations, right?”

He shrugged.

“Go bug your dad.” She sighed. “It wouldn’t kill him to spend some time with you.”

And with that, she peeled his arms away and left him to sob while she exited the building and took off in her car.

It was perfectly within his ability to fly after her but the rejection hit him hard and left him slumped in a sulk against the wall. He couldn't articulate the injustice he felt at his mother's actions; and I was certain that he hadn't made the link between the change in her attitude and her relationship with Gohan. But upon discovering a loose shred of wallpaper, pain turned to anger and he pulled it, tearing off a strip as long as his arm.

Without an ounce of remorse, he threw it on the floor and stormed away with tears in his eyes. It was the kind of stunt that, normally, would have earned him a taste of the back of my hand but I couldn’t bring myself to punish him when his feelings toward his selfish, lying mother were perfectly valid.

After that day, I watched my bright, outgoing boy fall victim to confusion and resentment. He became withdrawn and ceased to query Bulma’s absenteeism. Every night, she seemed to be ‘working late’ or ‘picking something up’ or ‘visiting an old friend’. 

In reality, she and Gohan were going on all kinds of secret dates which, more often than not, ended in sex. They regularly checked into West City Heights - a five star hotel in the middle of town; sometimes they fucked among the ferns in the park and, on one occasion, a back alley. 

It was raining heavily when they staggered out of the movie theatre, laughing like tickled hyenas. She pulled him into a kiss so passionate that it drew the gazes of passers-by and after that, she dragged him down the side of the building. 

By the time I had got into position, he had her against the wall; skirt bunched around her waist, legs wrapped around him as he held her in place with a hand under each ass cheek. With her head tilted skyward, raindrops fell into her laughing, panting mouth and he ground up and into her over and over and over with such force, the bricks behind must have felt like a cheese grater against her back.

The evenings on which she came home late from being with Gohan, she’d often bring Trunks a treat to make up for the neglect. And it quickly got to the point where he would traipse downstairs upon her return only to ask “did you buy me anything?”

And if the answer was ‘no’, he’d roll his eyes and sigh and slink back upstairs. 

He’d accepted, just as I had, that he was no longer a priority in his mother’s life and despite the ramping up of his obnoxiousness, I figured he had the right to deal with our family's dysfunctionality in his own way.

Besides, his newfound attitude meant that he started to give Gohan a hard time, and that, I liked. 

Trunks’ misgivings started out small. He snubbed the teenager’s greetings and attempts to initiate conversation and turned down all offers to go out and play. But things seriously nosedived one Friday night.

It was around eleven p.m. and for the last half an hour or so, Bulma and Gohan had been intertwined on the sofa, sucking each other’s tongues while trash TV murmured on in the background. 

He kissed along her jawline. “Can we do it yet?”

“Give it a little longer,” she whispered. “I just want to be sure that Trunks has drifted off.”

“It’s been two hours since his bed time, he must be asleep by now.”

“You can’t possibly be in that much of a rush.” She giggled. “We already did it right after you finished school.”

“I know, but it feels so good,” he said. “If I didn’t have school, I’d nail you ten times a day.”

Her laughter twinkled with flattery as he peppered her neck with kisses. “I'm serious,” he said. “When I’m inside you, it’s like my dick’s in heaven.”

She squawked with amusement. “Where did you learn to talk like that?”

“It’s the truth.” He kissed her, slipped his hand inside her top, dislodged her tit from her bra cup and groped as if it was the last opportunity he’d ever have. 

Then, out of the blue and much to Bulma’s dismay, he stopped.

He looked over his shoulder, pulled away from her and scooted along the sofa as if nothing had happened. Bulma’s face contorted in confusion until he gestured at the stairs where our sleepy little boy appeared moments later.

Immediately, she straightened up and pretended to be absorbed in watching TV.

Trunks trundled in front of the sofa, ignored Gohan and wiped his teary eyes. “Mommy? I had a bad dream.”

The transformation from groaning floozy to doting mother was astonishing. “Oh Sweetheart!” 

Without hesitation, she swept him into an embrace. And I was so captivated by the tender sight that I almost missed the curl of contempt tugging at Gohan’s top lip and the flicker of jealousy in his eyes as she pressed kiss after kiss against Trunks’ head.

She helped him onto her lap and whispered comforting sentiments while he cooed and sobbed and snuggled against her.

“Mommy? Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Before she could answer, Gohan interjected. “Hey, Trunks, there’s no need to feel scared of nightmares. They’re just made up in your imagination.”

My son’s face snapped toward the condescending teenager. “GET LOST!”

He yelled with such venom that even I flinched.

Once Bulma had managed to unlock her jaw, she pulled his head to her chest. “Trunks! That’s not nice!”

He squirmed free. “I don’t care!” Once again, he turned his attention to Gohan. “Why are you always here? You have your own mom, why are you tryna steal mine?”

Gohan threw his hands up in exasperation. “What are you talking about? I’m not trying to steal your mom.”

“Has your mom had enough of you like your stupid dad?” Trunks snarled. “Is she gonna go live in the other world just to get away from you like he did?”

Bulma clamped her palm over his mouth. “TRUNKS!”

His little hand wrestled hers away. “If you don’t go home, I’ll get my daddy to beat you up!”

Gohan smirked and crossed his arms. “I went up against your dad when I was younger than you and did just fine.”

Trunks scowled. “…Only cuz you got a bunch of other guys to help!”

Bulma grabbed our son by the top of his arms. “Stop it!”

But as he glared at her boyfriend, his eyes were ablaze with determination. “I DON’T WANT YOU HERE ANYMORE! IT’S WEIRD!”

Gohan stood as if in preparation to leave and heaved out a sigh from the bottom of his lungs. “…I don’t need this shit.”

“No!” Bulma's face contorted with panic. “Gohan, please don’t go!”

Shaking Trunks by his shoulders, she became almost hysterical. “See what you’ve done?”

Trunks’ brow furrowed. “He’s made you hate me!”

A second later, tears streamed down his face but that time, instead of becoming awash with motherly affection, the woman hardened. Hands under his arms, she picked him up, stood, then placed him on the floor.

“Go to bed!” She said, in a flat, icy tone.

“No!” Trunks pointed at Gohan. “If he’s staying up with you then so am I!”

“I mean it!” Bulma snapped. “If you don’t get to bed this instant, I’ll get in my car and drive away and I might not EVER come home!”

Like any normal little boy, Trunks often tried her patience but she had never used such vindictiveness against him. Her words were the verbal equivalent of a scorpion’s tail strike and even though I have the emotional equivalent of rhino hide, I felt the noxious sting.

Trunks stared in disbelief; face flushed with rage, confusion and fear before tugging at her dress while the waterworks went into overdrive. “WHY ARE YOU TALKING LIKE THIS? WHY?”

“Because I’m tired!” She bellowed. “I work hard, I’m practically raising you on my own and I deserve a little time to do what I want without being made to feel guilty! And if I want to watch TV and chat with Gohan then you will damn well let me! Understand?”

She shoved his little hands away as if they belonged to a pick pocket caught in the act and I considered that, perhaps, saiyans and humans weren’t so different in their approach to parenting afterall.

Trunks shot Gohan a look of pure hate which was returned with the kind of lopsided smirk that one could naturally expect from a self-satisfied prick that had only bested a six-year-old because the horny bitch he was screwing had resorted to threatening the child with abandonment.

It was always the way when facing off against one of Kakarot's lot. Sure, they thought of themselves as 'the good guys' but as my son had previously pointed out, they relied on ganging up, sandbagging and having their weaker crew members wait in the wings to take pot shots. The fact that I had a scar instead of a tail was testament to their cheap tactics. 

Plucky though he was, Trunks knew he’d lost the battle that night and so wiped his nose on his sleeve and left the despicable duo to stew in their sordid, empty little victory.

The flustered woman pressed a hand to her temple. “Jesus! I need a glass of wine!”

* * *

In the kitchen, the cigarettes came out before the Chardonnay and I was just as surprised as Bulma when Gohan showed an interest.

He watched intently as she lit up. “Smoking chills you out, right?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Can I have one?”

Bulma shrugged and slid the pack toward him.

A few moments later, he was poised to take his first ever drag. Smoke curled from the end and a flash of fear and sensibility showed up on his face as he thought about all the toxic filth that he was about to introduce to his young pink lungs. But any second thoughts were cast aside and he went ahead and inhaled as if passing ‘bad boy 101’ depended on it.

The two of them erupted in fits of laughter as he learned to like the way it felt to be simultaneously choked and intoxicated.

But I grew instantly weary of their school bathroom antics and left to check on Trunks.

Out cold, he breathed through his mouth. I closed it but quickly realised that he had no choice but to breathe that way because his little nose was still congested from crying himself to sleep.

Neither he or his mother had any idea of the many night time visits I had made to his bedside over the years. From the moment he was born, I had been written off as cold and distant although I’d argue that I was simply being honest about my feelings. And the truth was that, at first, I didn’t feel much for him at all. 

Curiosity struck before love and when he was three days old, I went to his crib in the dark, early hours of morning in order to see him without the worrisome meddling of my wife or her mother.

I reached in. He stirred. I froze. 

Tiny digits curled around my index finger and I swallowed at the strange emotion that suddenly clustered at the back of my throat.

“Come on,” I said. “You can do better than that. You’re my son, aren’t you?”

He rewarded me with a firmer squeeze but when I urged him to go harder still, he grizzled then screamed loud enough to shatter glass.

Never one to indulge hysterics, my belief was that, like an oil fire, they were best left to burn themselves out and whether baby or boy, if he cried, he cried alone.

Some might insist that I should have stepped in and removed Trunks from the company of his mother and her boyfriend before his emotions could reach such a fever pitch but that’s not how I roll. If my kid’s life had ever been in danger, I’d have saved him in a flash but other than that, he was going to damn well learn to stand up for himself and deal with difficult situations on his own. 

Actually, I thought he’d handled himself pretty well. Gohan had been ready to throw in the towel and were it not for Bulma fighting dirty, Trunks would have succeeded in getting rid.

I ran my knuckle over his cheek and along the tracks of his dried tears.

He’d earned himself a trip to the park; maybe even an ice cream.

When I returned downstairs, I had hoped to witness some level of remorse; especially from the woman – her head in her hands, sobbing and admonishing herself for being a terrible mother…

But all I found in the kitchen were abandoned wine glasses and half smoked cigarettes smouldering in an ashtray.

Gohan’s energy led me to the utility room; I found it odd that they were in there at that time of night. Apart from doing laundry, there was no reason for anyone to go in.

There were three ways into that part of the house; through the kitchen, garden or garage.

Curiosity got the better of me but when I sneaked through the latter to see what they were up to, I could have slapped myself for being so naïve.

Gohan was leaning back against the counter top. Using one hand, he steadied himself while the other tangled in Bulma’s hair as she knelt before him, sucking his cock, making sure he hit the back of her throat each time she took a mouthful.

Slicked up with spit, her grip jerked off the rest of his length so that every inch of him was stimulated and, as shameful (and hypocritical) as it was, all thoughts of my heartbroken son vanished as I watched on in smouldering envy.

God, I missed blow jobs. To my own detriment, I had too often failed to cultivate the emotions needed for the woman to want to get down on her knees and do the deed. The sheer novelty of receiving my attention used to be enough to thrill her into giving head but after several years together, it no longer counted for much.

Gohan, on the other hand, had been given the pleasure of her mouth several times a week and I presumed that's where he was about to finish; but the woman had other ideas.

Drawing back, she hitched her dress up and wriggled out of her underwear. The scrap of fabric had barely hit the floor when he picked her up by the waist and sat her on the counter; she leaned back on her elbows and as her breath sighed out, his dick went in.

“Ahhhh…Yes!”

Retracting, he was about to catch a rhythm when the woman reached up, fisted a handful of his top and pulled him down to listen to what she had to say. “Sweetie?” She panted. “Can you do something for me?”

“Uh? You mean right now?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to ask you stop what you’re doing and take out the trash.” Her breathy laugh was dry and almost mocking; she was heavily under the influence of alcohol. “…I want you to fuck me so hard that I lose my mind.”

Gohan appeared enthralled. Lost to the belief that her sudden wantonness had been born out of desire for him.

But I knew better. Specifically, that her risqué request had come straight from a guilty conscience. Wine alone hadn’t been enough to turn down the volume on the thought of hurting Trunks and so, she longed to be driven to distraction by something rough and physical.

And the well sucked teenager was only too happy to oblige. He adjusted the angle of her hips and got a grip; there was a little manoeuvring and a couple of practice thrusts. After that, he was away.

“Ahh…ah…ah…ah…ah…ah…ah…” The woman let loose with sharp exasperated gasps as he jackhammered her pussy. Her head shook as if she had Parkinson’s disease and she wrapped her legs around him for purchase; knees at forty-five-degree angles, heels together like a ballerina in _plié._

Hands on his shoulders, she tilted back from him as if abseiling down a wall. “YES!...That’s it!” She released him on one side and slipped her hand between their bodies, massaging her clit as his cock rammed in and out underneath it.

During sex, I would never allow her to resort to playing with herself but Gohan lacked both the sense of pride and competence to realise that it was his job, and his job alone, to satisfy her needs. 

Regardless of egotism, it paid to learn a trick or two to keep her clit happy while her g-spot caught up. As his sudden loss of rhythm and gruff little grunts attested to; it was no fun getting jabbed in the dick by an acrylic nail.

It was just as well then, that his frantic pace drove him to the heights of pleasure before her manicure could take the edge off it. With a hard shove, he lifted her off the countertop by a few inches and spewed his load inside her. “Ahhhhhhhhghh.”

She panted and laughed. “Hold on! Stay hard! Stay hard!”

He remained still, peering down to view his dick wedged inside supple pink folds. Where they gathered at the top, she rubbed frantically; bracelets rattling and jangling until a satisfied groan announced the arrival of her self-induced orgasm. 

Having taken care of business, her hand returned to Gohan's shoulder while her legs fell apart and hung limply either side of his waist. There was a kiss, a loose hug, the rush of breathing as it slowed to normal rate; there was something else too.

…!...!...!...

The splatter of cum hitting the floor tiles as it leaked from where their bodies joined.

All I could think about was the sound of it; how it reminded me of rain droplets running off Trunks’ raincoat whenever I hung it up to dry in that very room.


	6. The Rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan and Bulma's relationship is put to the test.

The morning after Trunks’ outburst, there was a brief consolation between mother and son. A hug, a kiss, a few softly spoken sentiments. Bulma explained to the little half-breed that it would make her ‘really happy’ if he tried harder to be ‘nice’ to Gohan. Trunks agreed; albeit with a downcast gaze and a morose pout.

Innocence precluded him from the sexual nature of his mother’s relationship. But he knew enough to blame the teenager for being downgraded to half-measures of affection.

Over the days that followed, he was grief stricken. He sobbed in bed at night and hid in the garden to do the same there. 

I was tempted to slap him, tell him to get a grip and pull himself together. I resented him for merely having to deal with some minor detachment when, all the while, I had to shoulder the weight of full-blown adultery. 

Fortunately, I came to my senses before saying or doing anything to add to his misery. 

A little privilege check reminded me that, unlike my young son, I possessed a unique emotional resilience crafted from a long, dark, ruthless past; and when it came to coping mechanisms, I also had the reassurance of adult options. I could have done what millions of other people in my situation did and self-medicated with all sorts of vices – alcohol, drugs, gambling, sex. But Trunks, a child, had virtually no way of escaping his sense of loss and pain. His whole world was made up of the people he loved and since so much of Bulma’s time and energy had been siphoned off to her adolescent boyfriend, a huge gap had opened up in his psyche.

Having run the gambit of sadness, anger and self-pity, he was left with only one course of action to fill the void.

Defiance.

Of course, that only served to worsen the rift between him and Gohan.

Head tipped back, pencil balanced on the bridge of his nose, my son refused to pay attention.

Gohan sat next to him at the dining table. “Come on, Trunks.” He sighed. “You’ll get in trouble if you don’t do your homework.”

The little punk pushed against the table so that his chair teetered precariously on its two back legs. “…I don’t care.”

Gohan crossed his arms. “What kind of future do you think you’ll have with that attitude?”

Trunks shrugged. “…I’ll still be president of Capsule Corp.”

Gohan’s eyebrows leapt upward before settling back into a frown. “…Smart ass.” He uttered, under his breath.

It was hardly more than ten years ago that he, himself, was my son’s age. But no matter what approach he used, he just couldn’t reach the boy. 

He tried being diplomatic. “You’re real smart! I bet you could complete these math problems in no time.”

He tried being strict. “I’d better see some effort or you’re gonna end up in big trouble! No TV, no video games, no candy and your mom will ground you.”

He even tried bribery. “Look, if you do your homework, I’ll take you out for ice cream afterwards.”

But Trunks was adamant. “I’m not doing it, no matter what you say.”

Gohan slammed his pen down. “In that case, we’ll sit here in silence all afternoon.”

While the teenager busied himself with a book, Trunks began to get restless. And like any bored and frustrated child, he set out on a campaign of psychological destruction against his oppressor.

At first, he started out small, taking two pencils and tapping them on the table like a drum. When the erratic percussion achieved the desired effect of pissing off Gohan, the offending items were swiftly removed and placed out of reach.

For twenty seconds, there was meek compliance.

...Then the humming started. 

Tuneless, random, non-stop humming.

Gohan successfully ignored it for all of two minutes before cracking. “I said, we’re sitting in silence!”

Trunks scowled. “Whatever. You’re stupid.” 

He then broke out into ‘song.’

“Stoooooopid…..stooooopid…..stoooopid Gohan…….stupid stupid Gohan….stooooopid Gohan with his stoooopid hair…..and he told me to do homework but I don’t caaaaare.”

Gohan stared with immense irritation. “How old are you?”

“Six, Dummy!”

“So why are you acting like a two-year-old?”

Unable to think of a clever retort, Trunks tore a sheet of paper from his notebook, scrunched it up, and threw it at the older boy's head. “Could a two-year-old do that?!”

It bounced off the irate teenager and landed on the floor. “PICK THAT UP, NOW!”

Thrilled to get such a rise, Trunks laughed, tore out another sheet and repeated his previous action.

It was the last straw. 

With an almighty sweep of his arm, Gohan cleared every last book, pen, calculator and scrap of paper off the table and on to the floor. The clatter was so loud that even my sassy little boy was stunned into silence. 

Red faced and wild eyed, Kakarot’s kid loomed menacingly over mine. “SIT STILL AND BE QUIET!”

Gohan's outburst seemed to do the trick and after putting the little trouble maker in his place, he settled back into his own seat and glowered into the middle distance. Meanwhile, said trouble maker inched backward so that his chair ended up slightly behind the teenager’s and, once again, that cheeky little smirk made an appearance. 

He started swinging his legs back and forth, gradually increasing the distance of each movement until his foot tapped Gohan’s chair.

…!...

…!...

…!...

The tapping got harder.

…!...

…!...

…!...

Gohan continued to stare dead ahead. “Quit it.”

But with a grin crafted of pure devilment, my son upgraded each tap to a kick.

…!...!...!...!...!...

Over and over, his foot made contact with the back leg of the chair until the damn thing started creaking with each impact.

And without warning, Gohan went ballistic!

>>>>>>>>!!!>>>>>>>>>

Fisting a handful of hoodie either side of Trunks’ chest, the raging teen ripped him from his seat and slammed his back onto the dining table.

“YOU LITTLE PRICK!!” He snarled. “WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM? ALL I ASKED IS THAT YOU DID YOUR HOMEWORK!! IT’S NOT EVEN HARD!!!”

Tiny hands wrestled unsuccessfully with big ones. Quivering blue eyes were met with seething black ones. “LEMMIE GO!! I’M GONNA TELL MY DADDY!”

White sparkles cracked the air as Trunks powered up. Lightning split and blazed as Gohan matched him volt for volt. 

I readied myself to step in but held firm; the desire to see my son defend himself over-rode any parental instinct to intervene.

“Go ahead!” Sneered Gohan. “Vegeta will probably kick your ass for slacking off. He and your mom are paying me a lot of money to tutor you. Do you really think they’ll be on your side when they find out you’ve been screwing around all afternoon?”

Trunks’ chin dropped to his chest and he lowered his energy to sulk. 

Gohan did likewise and unhanded him. Contemplating the loss of self-control, he raked a hand through his hair and with one final outpouring of anger-“Aghhhhh!”-he kicked a dining chair out of his path and stormed away.

I waited a minute before confronting my son who sat atop the table, sobbing.

“Where’s Einstein?” I asked.

He appeared surprised to see me but said nothing and shrugged. I gazed at the mess sprawled across the floor.

“…This room had better be spotless by the time your mother comes home, understand?”

He nodded.

And with that, I went after the tormented 'tutor'.

* * *

I found Gohan outside by the French doors which led into the kitchen. He was talking on his cell phone so I hung back to listen.

“I know you’re at work,” he said. “But you need to come back and deal with him….I tried but he hates me….Listen, I lost my temper…Pretty serious, I guess? Ok, see you soon.”

He hung up, closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall as the reality of dating a woman with a kid finally started to sink in.

Bulma and Trunks came as a package deal and when Gohan snatched under his T-shirt sleeve to retrieve his cigarettes, it was plain to see the prospect of carrying her ‘baggage’ stressed the hell out of him. Somehow, he'd have to weather Trunks' seemingly eternal spring of jealousy and resentment. He'd be forever viewed as an outsider, a competitor for the woman's affections. How would he cope when the little terror grew up into a hate fuelled teenager?

Still, the sweet hit of nicotine diluted those worries.

Gohan hadn’t been smoking long; a little over a week. Nevertheless, the addiction had taken hold. A few days earlier, Bulma expressed concern over how much he seemed to enjoy his new found habit. But he simply brushed her off with a reminder that she had been the one to get him started in the first place.

He ambled alongside the house; taking long, slow, nerve calming drags as he went. 

Smoke spiralled overhead, he threw a passing glance at the kitchen window...then froze. 

There was no one in there, and I was hidden well out of sight, which left me wondering what he could have possibly been so fixated on.

Suddenly, it hit me.

He was staring at his reflection in the glass. All big biceps, spiky hair, tight t-shirt, cigarette in hand like a vintage bad-boy. 

I never had him down as vain but the lingering admiration of his mirror image suggested that he thought he looked like a God damn rock star.

I started cracking up, and nearly keeled over with laughter. 

He truly was shaping up to be a pathetic, narcissistic prick of the highest order.

* * *

A short while later, Bulma came home and Trunks ran straight to her. “Mommy! Mommy!”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “Nevermind, _Mommy, Mommy_ ,” she said. “What’s all this I’ve heard about you being a naughty boy?”

Gohan sauntered through the living room with crossed arms. “He refused to do his homework, he ran his mouth off, he kicked my chair…”

Trunks clutched at her jacket. “No, I didn’t! He’s lying! Check out the dining room, I cleaned it up real good just for you!”

Bulma ruffled his hair. “In a little while, Hun. I need to talk to Gohan first, ok?”

He clenched his little fists and stared at the floor. “…Ok.”

And with that, she sent him off to play in his room.

Gohan watched with narrowed eyes as Trunks left. “I’m never having kids.”

“I don’t understand,” said Bulma. “He’s usually such a good boy. We’ve never had any behavioural complaints from school.”

Gohan cocked an eyebrow. “What are you saying? That this is my fault?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, that’s how it sounded. The teachers at school can handle him just fine but I can’t.”

“Sweetie, calm down, I’m not blaming you at all.”

“Good, because if anything, he acts up 'cause he's so spoiled. If you were a little harder on him, maybe he’d learn to mind his manners.”

Instantly, the atmosphere soured. The woman and boy stared each other down as their lover’s tiff turned into ‘pistols at high noon.’

Bulma jabbed her index finger at him. “DON’T tell me how to raise my son! You haven’t got a clue what it’s like to be a parent.”

He held out his hands in exasperation. “I just meant that he needs to understand certain behaviour is unacceptable.”

 _Yeah, like screwing other people’s wives,_ I thought.

From the way Bulma went quiet, I guess she too had hypocrisy on her mind.

“…I haven’t been giving him the attention he needs,” she said lowly. “But I don’t need some teenage kid lecturing me.”

Gohan looked horrified. “ _Some teenage kid?_ ”

Bulma gazed off to the side which was obviously not the response he was hoping for.

“…I think I should go home for a while,” he said. “Feel free to organise another tutor for Trunks.”

She nodded and although it looked as if she was about to cry, she remained silent.

* * *

Gohan left that afternoon.

In his absence, the house felt lighter, less tense. That’s not to say his departure was a quick fix; nothing changed between Bulma and I. We acknowledged each other in passing and had a few quick chats about Trunks’ performance at school but, other than that, we continued to keep our distance. 

She did a considerable amount of sulking. Each time her phone bleeped, she hurriedly picked it up only to look disappointed and toss it aside when it turned out not to be Gohan. 

On the plus side, Trunks was elated to have her full and undivided attention and, in no time at all, he bounced back to his happy-go-lucky self. On a few occasions, Bulma let him go to bed with her and, one morning, when she slept in until ten a.m., he was allowed to do the same…and stay home from school.

When I pulled her up about it, she reassured me that it had been a one-off and would not happen again.

But soon enough, my son’s truancy would pale into insignificance.

One evening, about a week and a half after leaving, Gohan called. In a flurry of excitement, Bulma fled to the hall and answered as nonchalantly as possible. He wanted to meet. She agreed and after hanging up, she fixed her hair and makeup and waited for him at the end of the driveway. 

Using the hedgerows for cover, I followed.

The kid made the brazen choice to fly over which I found a little insulting. Afterall, he’d have known damn well that I would sense him. Though my guess that he must have been too desperate to care, turned out to be right.

He landed in front of Bulma. “…Hi,” she said coolly.

She allowed him to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi.”

“So, what’s up?” She asked.

“Not much,” he said. “I've been thinking about you a lot…and I kinda had a massive fall out with my mom.”

A flicker of concern crossed Bulma’s face. “What happened?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away sheepishly. “…She found cigarettes in my school bag and went crazy.”

“Oh, Sweetie.” She took his hands in hers. “I wish I’d never encouraged you. Please promise you’ll quit.”

“I will, I have,” he said. “Can I stay with you again? Please? I really miss you.”

She released his hands. “……I miss you too." Hugging herself, she took a step back. "But Trunks has to come first.”

Crestfallen, he made no effort to hide his bitter disappointment. “Fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

And without giving her a second longer to explain, he took to the sky and flew away.

Several times that evening, she tried calling but his cell phone remained permanently switched off. And the following morning, her weekly gossip with Chi Chi did nothing other than corroborate his story. Although, he conveniently left out the part where he told his mother to ‘Stop being such a damn control freak!’ and when he ordered her to ‘Stay the hell out of [his] life.’ 

Fearful of being incriminated, Bulma pressed Chi Chi on the issue of Gohan's decision to start smoking. When her distressed friend theorised that he must have picked the habit up at school, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Days turned into a week and by the end of it, the teenager's whereabouts were still a mystery. It bothered Bulma so much that she sought me out to ask a favour.

“Hey,” she said, as I exited the gravity room. “Do you think you could locate Gohan’s energy? Chi Chi’s really worried about him.”

I sipped my sport drink and tried to hide the anger brought on by her audacity. “…Surely, that’s a job for Kakarot.”

She explained that Chi Chi had already demanded Kakarot track down their son and drag him home. But the stubborn dolt had refused, believing it was for the best that the kid took some time alone to reflect on his behaviour.

“Kakarot’s his father,” I said. “If he thinks the kid should be left to stew, then why the hell should I get involved?”

“Please?” She clasped her hands. “It’s not like I’m asking you to go out of your way.”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me at all,” I said. “Kakarot’s runaway brat is not my problem.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed. “…Chi Chi is one of my best friends. It would mean a lot to her if…”

I cut her off before she could dress up any more self-serving intentions as favours for friends. “I’m not prepared to expend even ten seconds of my mental energy on that punk.” 

Something dark and playful tugged at my mouth and poked the arch of my eyebrow. “For all I care, he could be laying dead in a ditch.”

A sharp breath, just short of a gasp, caught in her throat. Anger was pulling her one way, heartache, the other. But before she could decide upon a suitable comeback, too much time elapsed and I walked away.

* * *

Another week passed. 

Bulma continued to mope. Each day, she spent hours laid up on the sofa with a glass of wine in one hand and her phone in the other – waiting for a call that never came. I wouldn’t have minded so much if only she hadn’t allowed her personal stupor to affect Trunks. Again, he was permitted to miss school, two days back to back. When I found the woman and boy together in the kitchen, I discreetly growled my disapproval in her ear. 

“Chill out!” She said. “We’re baking cookies; that’s technically a chemistry lesson.” 

Unfortunately, Trunks’ school didn’t agree and Bulma and I were promptly summoned to the principal’s office to discuss attendance.

Once it had been established that sickness was not behind our son’s spate of absences, Bulma resorted to bullshit. She made out that Capsule Corp had some major projects in development and that Trunks had missed school in order to go on a couple of field trips to the labs and manufacturing facilities. “As heir to the company,” she said, “I felt that it would benefit him to see the design and creation of some of our new products.”

Teacher stared stoically. “That’s most interesting, Mrs Briefs, because when we spoke to Trunks, he said, and I quote…” She flicked back through her notes and cleared her throat. “I don’t know why I've missed so many school days. Mom just keeps forgetting to wake up early.”

Bulma looked mortified and to make matters worse, the line of ~~interrogation~~ questioning took a sharp turn towards scandal.

Teacher peered over her notebook, poised to write. “Have there been any changes at home recently?”

Translation: _I’ve got you pegged, you negligent monsters._

To be fair, ~~the snooty, judgemental bitch~~ Teacher wasn’t wrong. People in her profession see it all and know how to spot the signs of a dysfunctional household. They try to be as polite as possible when insulting our parenting and, in turn, we act just as polite when we downplay our failures.

I shot Bulma a look which she correctly interpreted as a command to stay silent, “Some _personal issues_ came up,” I said. “Unfortunately, Trunks’ normal routine was affected, although, we don’t plan on letting it happen again.”

Translation: _Mind your own fucking business._

We had to sit through an incredibly condescending lecture which consisted of reassurance that all families go through _ups and downs_. Sandwiched in the middle was a threat that we would face tougher consequences if Trunks missed anymore school days without good reason, and, finally, we were given a couple of leaflets about seeking ‘support’.

We stopped off in town to buy provisions and by the time we got home, Bulma was exhausted.

Trunks was swinging off her arm and bugging the hell out of her. “Mommy, Mommy, what are we having for dinner tonight?”

She sighed. “I don’t know yet, Hun.” Loaded up with bags full of groceries, the three of us walked into the kitchen. “Let me think about it.”

She froze. “Huh?”

Sitting at the island was none other than Gohan.

He sprang up the second he saw us. “Hi!”

He looked dreadful. That pretty face all bruised and scratched; an inch long cut marred his temple.

Bulma’s eyes widened to the max. “Oh! Hi!”

“Um…your parents let me in,” he said. “I tried calling earlier but your phone was switched off.”

“That’s right, it was,” she said with a slight stammer before explaining we had been stuck in a parent teacher meeting and that she had forgotten to turn it back on afterwards.

For all the acknowledgement we received, Trunks and I may as well have been invisible. The window of opportunity to greet us remained open but the chivalrous teen's attention had already moved on to the fully loaded bag in Bulma’s arms and rushed over to relieve her of it. “Here," he said. "Let me help.”

For the last week, a semblance of normality had descended upon our home. It felt pleasantly reassuring to know that, while I trained or washed the car, my wife wasn’t getting her brains fucked out. I had even allowed myself to think that our marriage was salvageable.

But any chance of reconciliation shattered in Gohan’s unexpected presence. 

I felt haunted. Possessed by an all too familiar, and maddening, impassiveness as it anaesthetised my heart, my psyche, my pride. The best I could do was summon a little insolence. “Is there something you wanted?”

Bulma shot an angry look my way. “Vegeta!”

But as Gohan finished unpacking the contents of the grocery bag, he appeared completely unfazed and turned to our son. “Actually, I came to apologise to Trunks.”

The little half-breed gawked. “For real?”

“Sure,” said Gohan. “I should have been a better tutor. Losing my temper was completely unprofessional and I’m really sorry. Forgive me?”

Trunks looked unsure but I think he was bowled over by the novelty of having a grown up apologise. “…Um…Ok.”

Gohan slid his hands into his pockets. “Cool.”

Sensing there were other intentions, Bulma quickly overcame her shell-shock. “Vegeta? Could you watch Trunks and finish putting the groceries away?”

Then, before I could respond, she led the teenager away, making sure the innocent intro to their conversation could be heard. “So, where were you? Your mom’s been worried sick…”

I tapped Trunks on the shoulder. “Go watch TV.”

* * *

Bulma and Gohan lingered in the hall which led to the library.

He stepped forward to kiss her. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

Her hand landed on his chest and kept him at bay.

“…Too much?” He said. “I get it. Can I have a hug instead?”

After taking a moment to think about it, she nodded and draped her arms around his shoulders while he encircled her waist and buried his face in her hair.

He let out a huge sigh. “You have no idea how much I need this.”

She drew back, studying his injuries and caressing his face. “Where have you been?”

“Training with Piccolo,” he said. “You know how he is; he doesn’t take any prisoners.”

She suddenly looked panicked. “Did you tell him about us?”

“No! Of course not!” He said. “I’d never tell anyone. He knew something was up though. Putting me through my paces was his way of helping me to get over it.”

She stroked his hair. “I was so worried about you.”

“I know,” he said. “You left nearly as many voicemail messages as my mom.”

“I wish you’d called, just once, to let me know you were ok.”

“Sorry, Piccolo has a strict _no cell phone policy_. Besides, I needed to cut myself off and clear my head.”

“I never wanted us to fight,” said Bulma. “But I have to put Trunks first.”

I expected Gohan to sink into one of his patented teenage sulks but to my surprise, he had completely changed his tune. “Of course you do!” He said. “I had no right to criticise your parenting.”

It was humble pie all round.

“I know he can be a handful,” said Bulma.

Gohan shook his head reassuringly. “…He feels protective over you; it’s natural. I wouldn’t want to share you either.”

“It’s my fault he acted up,” she said. “I’ve damaged him…and you.”

She reflected on how Gohan used to be such a good boy and how she felt responsible for corrupting him. But in her state of heightened emotion, her thoughts jumped all over the place and before Gohan could address any of her other points, she launched into a rundown of our meeting at the school. “Trunks’ teacher thinks I’m a lying scum bag,” she whined. “And she’s right! I’m a bad mom.”

Gohan tilted her chin up. “No, you’re an awesome mom.”

“I’ve neglected my little boy.”

“You’re the one that’s been neglected. You do so much for everyone else and never get anything in return. Look, you’re exhausted.”

I chewed over what I knew was a thinly veiled dig at me while he grazed the side of her face, palm against her jaw, fingertips lost in the hair behind her ear.

“Let me try again with Trunks," he said. “You don’t even have to pay me; I’ll tutor him for free. I just want to be close to you.”

“I’m not sure if…”

He cut in. “I know I really upset you. We don’t have to sleep together or do any of that stuff, I just need you in my life. These last two weeks have been hell without you.”

They gazed into the depths of each other’s eyes until Bulma breathed out a relenting sigh. “…How about you stay here tonight and, after that, we’ll see how it goes?”

He threw his arms around her. “I won’t let you down again. I love you.”

I raced back to the kitchen just in time to catch Trunks with his hand in the cookie jar. “What?” He said. “I’m starving!”

Like a mother hen and chick, Bulma returned with Gohan in tow and she immediately frowned. “Trunks! Put that back, we’re having dinner soon.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away. “Oh Man!”

Bulma absentmindedly grasped the lock of hair that fell over her shoulder and twisted it around her finger. “Listen guys,” she said. “Gohan’s in hot water with Chi Chi so he’s gonna stay with us until it blows over.”

Trunks expressed a strange mix of frustration and indifference, interlocking his hands behind his head, raising his toes and balancing on his heels. “…Can we have dinner now?”

I said nothing while Bulma rubbed her forehead and groaned.

Gohan placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll make it.” 

Trunks raised an eyebrow. “You can cook?”

“Well, my mom taught me some basic stuff.”

Trunks sneered. “Cooking’s for girls.”

Gohan laughed. “Where’d you get a stone-age idea like that?”

“…My dad.”

Gohan sent a nervous, fleeting glance my way. “Oh…I guess my dad is kinda _traditional_ too.”

An awkward silence threatened to settle but he dispelled it in the nick of time. “Hey, Trunks, do you like spaghetti?”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Sure!”

“Wanna help me make it?”

“Ok!”

“Awesome!” Gohan flashed me and Bulma a triumphant smile. “Guys, go and take a load off; me and Trunks have got dinner covered.”

* * *

Dinner was served.

Overcooked pasta in store bought tomato sauce with meatballs made from squashed hamburgers. From the woman’s gushing reaction, anyone would think that Gohan had presented us with something straight from the pass of a Michelin starred restaurant.

“How is it?” He asked.

Bulma twirled her fork among the brick red slop on her plate. “I love it! And the best part is that I haven’t had to think of it, make it, or clear up after it.”

Trunks swallowed a mouthful. “It was my idea to squish the hamburgers together to make meatballs!”

“That’s amazing, Sweetie!” She said. “You’re so smart.”

The vein throbbing in the side of my head felt as if it could explode with sheer cynicism and so, I excused myself and headed out to the forest behind the building. There, I went straight back to my old tricks; planting energy to fool Gohan about my whereabouts while I lurked in the shadows to monitor him and my wife.

After dinner, he insisted Bulma take a bath while he played with Trunks. Later, his ulterior motive was revealed. The idea being that he exhausted our son so that he’d sleep heavy and not disturb any funny business downstairs.

The plan worked like a charm.

Bulma put Trunks to bed and he was out cold as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Then, in the living room, Gohan worked the rest of his magic. And by magic, I mean bitch move after bitch move after bitch move.

He brushed Bulma's hair, listened to her talk crap about groceries, coupons, the nail varnish colours that best suited her. And when she happened to mention how much her high heels had killed her after wearing them all day, he made the biggest bitch move of all.

“Would you like a foot massage?”

While the woman sank back on the sofa, wrapped up in her bath robe, filing her nails, the kid got down on his knees, lotion in hand, and slathered each foot.

Eyes heavy with pleasure, her head lolled to the side. “Oh Sweetie…I’m so glad you’re here. You’ve been amazing tonight.”

His palm enclosed her toes. “Does that mean I can stay with you?”

“Honey, keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll marry you.”

He straightened like a meerkat on hyena alert. “Do you mean it?”

"Hmmm?" She raised her arms over her head, gripping the sofa cushions behind. “Sure, you have magic hands.”

They seemed to have their wires crossed, but that small detail became irrelevant when, suddenly, Gohan's stare looked to be laser guided.

Unknown to Bulma, the parting of her bathrobe had slightly widened, rewarding the lovesick teenager with something of a peep show. There was scarcely an inch of pussy on show but it was more than enough to stoke his lust.

As his concentration waned, the rubbing of her foot slowed right down; he grew fidgety and sat back on his heels. 

In my previous line of work, interplanetary travel meant I often spent months flying solo; pent up, frustrated, longing for the unique sensuality that only a woman can give. I understood, completely, the hot, itchy, desire fizzing within the kid as he stared at my wife’s luscious cunt.

He glanced at her face, she wasn’t asleep but her eyes were closed, then he went straight back to gawking at that teasing sliver of slit and lip.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to swallow away all yearning and indecisiveness. 

He straightened, weighing up whether to request consent or pounce and hope for the best.

Seconds passed. 

He flinched. It was a false start. 

Back on the starting block, he continued psyching himself up, banishing the fear of rejection, preparing to advance…!...

Abandoning her foot, he pulled her calf over his shoulder and, as her eyes snapped opened, he lurched forward.

She grasped at the surrounding throw pillows. “Oh!”

Gohan buried his face between her legs.

“…Ahh!...Gohan!?!...Oh?!....OH GOD!!”

Gasps of shock melted into groans of pleasure and her fists closed around thick black spikes of hair. She reclined, spreading her thighs, his lotion slick hands splayed against the inner region of each one.

Fluttery blue eyes rolled backwards. “Ahhh!…Oh!…Oh, that feels…”

Articulation eluded the woman as the boy’s tongue wrestled with her clit - attacking the pink morsel from all sides, pinning it, laying off only to slide down and dip inside her entrance. He withdrew, leaving a dribbling trail of she-cum glistening in his wake. “You taste so good," he murmured, before going back for seconds.

Circling her clit, his tongue tip created a vortex of pleasure and she whimpered in protest when he stopped to rear up and pull her bath robe apart. He grabbed at her tits and, in his rush to mount her, he paced kisses like stepping stones up her abdomen and chest. Crawling on top of her, he claimed her mouth with deep, pressing kisses that looked more like eating than kissing.

A gentle push against her shoulders coaxed her to lay flat. Then, with a firm yank, his belt came apart followed quickly by his fly. There was a flash of tight, vascular flesh as he took out his dick and then it vanished between the woman's legs when he rammed home; filling her in one fast lunge.

“Ahhhhhh!”

They groaned in unison.

Once inside, he gave her the neck kisses that should have come as standard foreplay.

“I love you,” he panted.

“Oh, Honey, that's so _sweet_.”

I don’t think he noticed the condescension, or evasion, in her response. How could he?

After a fortnight of abstinence, it was like nothing else existed as he threw himself – heart and soul - into the vigorous ploughing of my wife.

Her hot, wet cunt felt sublime at the best of times. But going from a cold, hostile environment, with only a killjoy Namek for company, to cock ravishing bliss? Well, the contrast must have blown the kid's mind.

“Aghhhh…ahh.”

He came in less than a minute.

Breathless and deflating, he nuzzled between her tits while his softening dick remained tucked up inside her.

He ran his fingertips over her nipples, and watched in fascination as they tightened under his touch. “…I didn’t make you cum.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered. “Finish me with your mouth.”

I found it amazing that, having failed to satisfy her, he didn't automatically get to work on tongue-fucking her to a body jolting orgasm. In fact, I became quite hung up on the fact that she had to ask for it. 

In any case, down he went, and she sighed blissfully at the first lick against her clit. 

But when there was no follow up, her eyes snapped open. “Are you ok?”

“Just a sec." He pulled the side of her robe in to wipe the cum dribbling from her enflamed layers. “My stuff doesn’t taste as good as yours.”

She stared up at the ceiling, pupils darting with incredulity, probably wondering why he should back away from his own jizz when she took it down her throat by the mouthful.

But the second his tongue got back to work. “…Ooooh Gohan.”

All was forgiven.


	7. Blue Drink Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With plans to move on, Vegeta looks to the future but when his last sport drink is taken, he is triggered in a bizarre and frightening way.

After Bulma and Gohan’s amorous reunion, I lost track of time. As I trained, slept and minded Trunks, each day bled into the next. Before I knew it, the following Friday had arrived and the idea of migrating to another part of the universe seemed more sensible than ever. 

I had even come around to the idea of forsaking my son.

Over the last week, my concern for his emotional wellbeing lessened and for that, I credited Gohan’s change of tact. During his sabbatical with Piccolo, he had obviously done a lot of thinking and concluded that inventing cover stories, and sneaking out the house with Bulma, had been faulty strategy. It generated too much drama, took too much energy, looked too suspicious. 

Moving forward, it seemed that carrying on in plain sight was the way to go and the new gameplan started the evening he returned to apologise to Trunks. Roping my son in to make dinner and then chasing him around the garden for two hours straight, had not been a one-off as I first thought. Oh, no. It was the start of a whole new child-centric approach to getting what he wanted. 

The way to Bulma was through Trunks and, with that in mind, Gohan became the big brother he never had.

Instead of finding ways to swerve my son, the teenager showered him with what every kid craved.

Attention.

Those math tuition sessions became ‘fun’. Plates of cookies adorned the table, toys were used as props, and every lesson started and ended with a high-five. There were trips to the park and crazy golf - Gohan even threw the game to allow Trunks the win. At home, he joined in playing with action figures, building Lego, racing Scalextric cars, and watching infantile movies. Within the space of one week, he engaged my little halfling in more recreational activities than I had in a year and the turnaround in their relationship was nothing short of remarkable. More to the point, it was effective. With Trunks perpetually occupied or worn out, Gohan was able to reap the rewards as he went along.

Whenever he felt like groping Bulma’s tits, he discreetly mauled her on the sofa while, just in front, Trunks lay belly-down on the floor, glued to the TV. And, instead of leaving the house to go on secret dates, the devious couple enjoyed deep kisses right next to the bathroom as Trunks bathed on the other side of the door.

It was genius. Since Trunks was no longer habitually abandoned, he had no cause to feel resentful or insecure and, not only was he clueless about the heavy petting going on around him, he also served as a useful third wheel to stop my in-laws suspecting any funny business.

In fact, whenever Gohan launched into his one-man Sesame Street routine, he and the woman deliberately ignored each other which further played into Trunks’ belief that the world had come to revolve around him and him alone.

But once he was safely tucked up in bed, all pretence ended.

And the sexual free-for-all began.

I could have pointed out any random surface in the building and it was safe to assume that Gohan and Bulma had fucked on it, against it, or over it. If a forensics team had shone a black light around Capsule Corp, it would have looked as if someone had tried redecorating the place with white paint and a blow gun.

Two evenings ago, when the secret lovers were feeling particularly whimsical, they stripped off by the swimming pool and indulged in some midnight skinny dipping. Playful splashing swiftly turned into a bobbing entanglement of bodies. Coughing, laughing and spluttering through mouthfuls of chlorinated water, they struggled to all at once kiss and fuck and stay above the surface.

That liaison marked the end of my surveillance.

The decision to stop watching wasn’t down to any special reason; I felt ambivalent as ever towards their intimacy. It’s just that, ultimately, I grew bored of it.

In any case, a greater distraction came to occupy my mind.

With Gohan going all out to satisfy my wife and son’s needs, I was plagued by an unshakable feeling of redundancy. With my strict training schedule and anti-social disposition, how could I compete with him?

Or perhaps the real question was _why_ should I?

My life was already a crowded territory of regrets and discontents. I had no desire to add to it by remaining on some watery rock, thrashing myself in artificial gravity, for no other reason than to have the privilege of serving on the front line against the planet’s disproportionately high number of insanely powerful enemies. At the end of the day, I owed the pitiful, spineless people of Earth nothing.

And so, all arrows pointed to a graceful, and extraterrestrial, retreat. 

Several years ago, during my star-bound quest to become a super saiyan, I discovered that Frieza’s death had caused a full-blown political power vacuum. Despite the passing of so much time, it was a sure bet that the battle to take his place raged on. What's more, it was exciting to think about seizing the position for myself.

I would reign supreme over an intergalactic empire, command armies, fleets of space ships, live in a palace, restore respect for the saiyan race, hand-select a harem of young beauties and fuck the ever-loving shit out of each and every one of them.

Earth? Ha! I’d come back only to topple Kakarot for sport. After that, the third rock from the sun would become nothing more than an amusing story to tell my grandchildren.

Naturally, Trunks would have been welcome to join me on the other side of the milky way. No doubt, my departure would cause him considerable disappointment and he’d come to me as an angry teenager looking for answers; maybe even a throw down. That prospect didn’t worry me at all; I would have floored him, no sweat. 

Without my guidance, he would never reach his full potential as a warrior; relying, instead, on the pacifistic techniques so favoured by Kakarot and his ilk. Afterall, it was inevitable that they would take the reins on his training. With any luck, they would impart the Kamehameha or Masenko Blast, but other than that, Trunks was bound to be brainwashed into utilising disgraceful amounts of evasion and defence. 

…It pained me…sickened me…to think of my son’s talents going to waste.

Still, I reassured myself it was nothing that couldn’t be rectified further down the road.

The bottom line was, I didn’t need to worry about Trunks. His future counterpart had grown up without me and that time travelling maverick had developed into a competent and well-rounded fighter. Damn good-looking too. In the current timeline, I imagined he would be too busy fucking super models and Miss World contestants to give my absence a second thought.

As for Gohan and Bulma?

My mind refused to conjure up a vision of their future but I didn’t need Baba to tell me that Bulma could look forward to more DIY orgasms and cervical bludgeoning. And whether their relationship collapsed in a painful, destabilizing mess or simply fizzled out, I knew for sure their days were numbered.

That wasn’t me being cynical. How could they possibly settle into happy legitimacy?

Bulma didn’t love Gohan. 

No matter how many times he said _I love you_ , she could never bring herself to say it in return and only delusion and naivety kept him from confronting the fact.

_Love_

I used the word exclusively (and scarcely…and privately) in relation to my son, other than that, it held no place in my vocabulary.

I did, however, reserve the right to courtship. And, by the time I returned to face off against Kakarot, I fully intended to have a brand-new woman to parade about. 

…A high-breasted stunner to turn Bulma’s eyes green with envy.

Dawn broke just as I finished (what I thought was going to be) my last gravity room workout on Earth. After the debacle surrounding Trunks’ non-attendance, I insisted on taking over his morning wake-up call. However, Bulma had, rather forcefully and loudly, objected, so, in the end we agreed to take turns. 

Having called dibs on Fridays, the school run was supposed to be her responsibility that morning. But by the time I finished getting ready in the locker room, it appeared that she still hadn’t awoken.

Oversleeping was one of her worst habits and, because of it, Trunks had already turned up late to class a few times. Consequently, her lack of reliability prompted me to find out whether she was going to drag herself out of bed. I had no interest in arguing about it, I just needed to know whether she intended to take charge of our son because, if not, then I would.

I sensed that Gohan was with her. _No big deal,_ I thought; it was nothing I hadn’t seen a hundred times before. 

Besides, I figured that one last look at her, snuggled together with her toy-boy, would give me the final push I needed to vacate the solar system. 

On my way to the garden, images formed of the pair sleeping soundly. Big spoon curled around little spoon, the slow rise and fall of chests, bare shoulders, his arm curled protectively around her.

But a hop up to ~~my~~ ~~our~~ the bedroom window revealed more than I had bargained for. There was, indeed, plenty of spooning to behold; sufficed to say, my expectations were far exceeded.

Gohan lay behind Bulma, her tits jiggling with the force of the side-on fucking. Her thigh levered upward while his dick splayed her glistening pussy and slid in and out. Compressed and hidden, her clit quivered beneath his fingertips as her hand covered his wrist and directed his touch.

He peered over her shoulder, jostling with her silky, pink innards. “…Am I doing it right?...”

Squinting with intensity, she panted. “…Keep it there; Baby…ah…that’s it!”

He was left to play freestyle as she removed her hand from his and gripped his hip. Her neck arched, her mouth locked open, blue eyes rolled like two marbles down a storm drain. "AHHH!….AHHH!….OH FUCK!….AHHH!”

With her pussy mashed into ecstasy, she came in a shaky formation of extended limbs. Her stiff, cum glazed clit was suddenly revealed as Gohan abandoned it to hook his forearm around her raised leg. His torso pressed tight against her spine as he slammed away, panting against the back of her shoulder until his own hot, gushing orgasm swamped her pulsing cunt.

All arms and legs fell limp, cheeks flushed, and bed covers rustled as they were pulled up and over sweating bodies.

During the restoration of calm and contentment, they nestled together and he buried his face in her sprawling mess of turquoise hair. He shifted only to withdraw from her drenched depths, clearing the way for a creamy afterbirth to spill out after his semi-hard dick.

The satisfied pair looked as if they were about to drift off to sleep when the piercing and insistent _Beep! Beep! Beep!_ of the alarm clock sounded.

After missing the button on the first few tries, Bulma switched it off.

“Ohhhhh!” She groaned. “I don’t wanna move.”

Gohan kissed her neck. “So, don’t.”

She pouted as she reached back and stroked his jaw. “I have to get Trunks ready for school.”

“I’ll do it.” He stood up and stretched. Bright morning light, spearing between the partially drawn curtains, painted a white stripe across his fair, muscular body. “Just promise you’ll still be in bed when I get back.”

She giggled. “Deal.”

While my lazy cow of a wife dozed serenely, I dropped down and kicked back on one of the reclining loungers by the outdoor swimming pool. The sunshine was so pure and white that just thinking about it would have given a vampire a migraine. I was no sun worshipper myself but since it looked to be my last dose before the long, dark journey across space, I wanted to make the most of it.

Time passed and before long, I craved sustenance. 

In truth, my decision to relax outdoors had been more about dodging Gohan than I cared to admit. Considering the circumstances, I'd say my aversion toward him was understandable. Nevertheless, I started lambasting myself. The very idea that I should wait outside my own home for fear of risking a little thorniness was ridiculous.

Besides, it was rapidly approaching Trunks’ departure time and I reassured myself that any crossing of paths would last seconds rather than minutes.

Sure enough, when I headed toward the kitchen, I intersected the two boys on their way to the front door. Gohan used one hand to usher Trunks’ and the other to hold a bottle of my favourite sport drink; the blue kind that tasted of five different berries.

My son smiled and waved as he passed. “Hi Daddy! Bye Daddy!”

Gohan briskly moved him onward. “Morning, Vegeta.” He said, without making eye contact.

………………..

………………..

………………..

…!...!...!...!...!...

As I continued on, I developed the sneakiest suspicion that I had just seen the last of my beloved beverages disappear down the gullet of the thirsty teenager. It shouldn’t have felt like such a big deal but a horrible, sinking feeling cut through my hunger pangs and a low-level headache flared up behind my temples.

A quick inspection of the refrigerator confirmed it. There it was; a bottle shaped gap staring me right in the face.

Of all the crap in that overstuffed ice box, it had been the one thing to specifically belong to me. I needed that hit of glucose and electrolytes. I had trained so hard my guts throbbed. I asked for nothing in return from the snivelling morons with whom I co-habited. All I wanted was my blue drink.

I liked the pretty colour, the way it sounded when I opened it, the scent, that first cold mouthful sliding down my throat. It was like a kiss on the lips from the angel of refreshment.

…And without a single thought for me, that seventeen-year-old punk had made off with it.

Over and over, I replayed the sight of his hand around it, his mouth around it…

…Suddenly, there was a metamorphic shift in imagery and I no longer saw a bottle.

…!...

I saw Bulma.

 _My_ Bulma.


	8. Paper Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goku comes to the rescue.

My neck seized up. It felt as if an icicle was being hammered up one side and a rod of hot, glowing metal up the other.

I shivered; one eye twitched.

Helpless to stop or control the strange affliction, I closed my eyes only for hellish red flashes to light up the blackness of my eyelids in time to my pulse.

My throat tightened as if gripped by an invisible fist and my jugular vein felt ready to burst.

…*!*…

I slammed the refrigerator door shut then twisted around to lean over and catch my breath.

A highlight reel of Gohan and Bulma’s most intimate moments fast-forwarded through my mind - nudity, movement, penetration, mouths, tongues, grunts, cries, saliva, cum.

And then, as it became clear that my days of turning a blind eye were over, one by one, my emotions gate-crashed the party.

Anger bulldozed its way in first.

Pure, unbridled, sanity dislocating anger.

The voice inside my head began to muse.

_Hello, Anger. Where were you when Kakarot’s horny brat first dared to take liberties? On vacation?_

_Oooh, I can feel you’ve brought your little friend, Jealousy. That’s good. We can use him._

_And what else? Pride! You’re looking a little bruised these days but I’m glad you’ve finally hauled your sorry ass along._

My ears resonated with the oceanic roar of rushing blood as everything in between them twisted in a hurricane of grief, pain and pornography. My chest pounded to the presto metronome of my heartbeat.

Like sailing a row boat in a tempest, thunder and darkness closed in from all around and my only prospects looked to be throwing up and drowning. I don’t know what the hell kept me afloat – Resilience? Luck? God? Somehow, I got a grip. The hyperventilation slowed and, finally, there came the calm after the storm.

Cautiously, I straightened. It was as if the messy contents of my mind had been vacuumed away. I felt light, switched on, wired. And yet, despite my clear-headedness, I had no idea of what to do next.

So, I started off by ruling out what I didn’t want to do and quickly surmised that meant anything detrimental to Trunks.

The mere thought of Gohan caused a sensation on the back of my neck like a shower of blowtorch sparks. If he hadn’t been escorting my son to school, I would have taken off at once and hunted him down like prey. 

With him temporarily off the hook, that only left the woman.

And before the suddenly very noticeable drip of the kitchen tap drove me to blow up the entire building, I decided to go and say _Good Morning._

* * *

Without so much as a cursory knock on the door, I entered the bedroom and found Bulma propped up against a stack of pillows, cocooned in sheets and blankets. It pleased me that she was awake, but I was less enthusiastic to see that she was enjoying her first cigarette of the day.

I prowled towards her. “Isn’t it a little early for that, _my love_?”

She sat bolt upright and tried to wave away the smoke lingering above her head. “Oh! Hi! I was just…um…”

“No need to explain,” I said. “I get it. There are some things we know we shouldn’t do but it’s all too easy to say _to hell with the consequences_ , right?”

I must have radiated malevolence because she shrank back and clutched the covers to her chest. “…Why are you acting so weird?”

I crawled on to the bed and pinched the cigarette from her loose grip. Her mouth parted, her eyebrows raised and while she considered the possibility that I had gone insane, I took a long slow drag and held the smoke in my lungs.

Rich, oaky and strangely satisfying, I savoured the toxic fumes before expelling them, slowly; the dark haze caressing her face like a ghost’s hand.

Though her eyes had already widened as far as possible, they quivered with the futility of trying to open further. Terror gave the striking blue orbs a mirror shine. There was a second of contemplation. A twitch. A sharp intake of breath then a desperate lunge to escape. 

I caught the top of her arm. “NO!” She shrieked.

There was a one-sided struggle as I forced her onto her back. Her head landed against pillow and, a blink later, she was on the verge of tears.

I brandished the cigarette’s smouldering red and grey end a couple of inches in front of her nose. “…You’re probably wondering why I’m a little _riled_.”

Her chest heaved and gasps of horror came thick and fast. It sounded as if an answer was trying to make it out but ended up getting swallowed.

I leaned forward. “Gohan…”

At the mention of his name, she let out a burst of emotion. “Gaaghh!”

“…took my last sport drink.”

She regarded me with amazement and dismay. “…I’ll…I’ll…”

“What’s that?” I asked, mildly gratified by her fear. “You’ll get me some more?”

She nodded rigidly as if someone was holding her head, trying to stop her from doing so.

“…How kind,” I said. “If only it was that easy to fix my _other_ little problem.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “…Other problem?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, my voice dripping with condescension. “See, I have the craziest idea that you and our teenage house guest have been fucking like a pair of rabbits on honeymoon. And, call me sensitive, but I’m not too happy about it.”

Her shock gave way to a sort of delirious glee, as if she believed that the entire Godawful situation could be cleared up with a simple denial. “…No!...” She swallowed then tried (and failed) to force a smile. “No, we haven’t!”

She never knew how close I came to snapping her neck just so I wouldn’t have to endure the lies.

“Oh?” I said, feigning surprise. “In that case, this is obviously one big misunderstanding.”

I reached under the covers, grazing my fingertips over her thighs, and though I was met with resistance when I attempted to part them, I easily overpowered her. “…I just have one question.”

A tide of sexual viscosity had seeped out, soaking everything between her legs. The tip of her clit was like a tiny island in a sea of cum; some of which had migrated north of her slit and made the hairs there clump together in sticky kiss curls. 

“..Uhh!” She squeaked when I pushed my index and middle fingers, none too gently, into the hot, wet depths of her cunt.

“…Where did all this come from? Huh?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as I pressed up against her g-spot. “Ahh!” 

“Either he fucked you,” I said. “Or you’re _very_ happy to see me.”

I continued to hold the cigarette in front of her face which was enough to frighten her into keeping still and after withdrawing my hand from her body, I inspected the white coating that went right up to my top knuckles. “Care to explain?”

I was met with silence and an unblinking stare…

Her reaction (or rather lack thereof) irritated the hell out of me and cold fury had me thinking that I should slap her as punishment for denying me the satisfaction of a response.

But, in a moment of inspiration, I ran my tongue along my finger, licking the cum from the entire length, and that was more than enough to shock her into releasing a murmur of revulsion.

My taste buds pressed against the roof of my mouth as I sampled the weakly tangy, salty fluid.

“…Oh…God!” She retched. “I’m gonna throw up!”

“What is it?” I sneered. “Come on. I want to hear you say it.”

Left then right, I smeared each of her cheeks with a streak of cum as if it was war paint. She cowered and swiftly wiped at her face with the back of her wrist.

Rolling the cigarette slowly between my index finger and thumb, I wore my trademark smirk. “Keep treating me like an idiot,” I said. “And see what I do next.”

Eyes squeezed shut, trembling, she cracked.

“ALRIGHT!” She screeched. “I’ve been FUCKING Gohan!”

I waited until she dared to peek before pushing the cigarette down.

“AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

It was worth having my eardrums perforated by her bloodcurdling scream just to put an end to the indignity of our farcical back and forth. As I twisted the ashen tip into the pillow, I made sure to do it right by her ear so she could hear the extinguishing sizzle.

“AGGGHHHH…..AGGHHHH…..Aghhh….Aghhhh.”

Every breath came out as a shriek until the disbelief of not coming to harm lifted.

I got off the bed and made for the door.

She sat up. Her face was a shiny, wet mess of tears and cum. “Where are you going?!?”

I paused. “Where else? To go buy more sport drinks.” I grinned. “I’ll be sure to get extra this time…since Gohan likes them too. Can I get you anything while I’m out?”

She gave no answer, as such. Instead, she let rip with the most hysterical crying I’d ever heard in my life. Each high-pitched howl was interrupted only to draw breath. She probably feared that I was off to cause some sort of mayhem but I hadn't said what I'd said out of flippancy; I meant it. Having unburdened myself with the truth, I was rewarded with relief and aplomb. I wanted nothing more than to do something constructive and a shopping trip fit the bill.

* * *

Down in the lobby, I was about to grab my jacket when a burst of energy emanated from upstairs. I recognised it straight away as Kakarot’s and, as curiosity got the better of me, my plans to go out were put on ice.

I re-entered the bedroom and was slightly taken aback at the sight of my fellow saiyan. Dressed in fluffy, brown, bear paw slippers, striped pyjamas and a dark blue bath robe, he perched on the bed while the woman clung to his chest and wailed nonsensically.

“Calm down, Bulma,” said Kakarot. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

The second she spotted me, she scrambled backward in a tangle of bedsheets. “AIIIIIGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! GOKU! KEEP HIM AWAY FROM ME!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!”

The gormless chump scratched his head and glanced back and forth between me and her.

“Hey, Vegeta!” He said. “Can you clue me in? Bulma called and said she was in deep doo-doo.” He grinned sheepishly. “Actually, those weren’t her exact words…heh heh…but it sounded like an emergency so I used instant transmission to get here and nothing’s making any sense.”

I gestured at the woman. “Do you want to tell him or shall I?”

Whimpering, she hid behind Kakarot’s shoulder.

“Well, I wish someone would,” he said. “Chi Chi’s making bacon for breakfast and I’d sure hate to miss out on that for nothing.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m afraid even you might lose your appetite when you find out what’s been going on, Kakarot. See, my wife and your son have…”

“…Goku.” The woman sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

He turned around to face her.

“…I’ve been sleeping with Gohan.” 

Weighed down by shame, her head dropped. Meanwhile, Kakarot’s confused expression transformed into one of utter astonishment. His eyebrow twitched, his breathing slowed and deepened. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look at her with anything other than fondness. As she sat there, naked and terrified, wrapped in sheets soaked with cum and sweat, he beheld her with disappointment. It wasn’t the bitter kind, rather, it was the pitiful sort with which an addict’s loved one regards them after a relapse…and I revelled in the torturous silence of it all.

Eventually, something altogether more serious took over his features.

“…Has Vegeta hurt you?"

I released a derisive snort.

She shook her head. “…No.”

“Where’s Gohan?”

She snivelled. “Taking Trunks to school.”

He acknowledged with a nod, then stood. “…Bulma, I know you’re scared but I want you to take a shower and try to pull yourself together. Me and Vegeta are gonna go and have a little chat."

She clutched at his pyjama neckline. “No…no…please don’t leave me alone.”

Gently, he pushed her hand away. “It’ll be ok.”

I smirked. It was the kind of hollow reassurance given to kids when a parent gets wiped out in a tragic accident.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve fixed yourself up,” he said. “And, I promise, I’ll come back to check on you just as soon as I get done, ok?”

She choked back a sob and nodded.

Kakarot fixed me with an unreadable gaze. “…Come on, Vegeta.”

Had it not been for my sense of bemusement, I never would have agreed to go. But with nothing better to do, I figured there was no harm in seeing what kind of spiel he would come out with. God knows, I needed a laugh.

* * *

At Kakarot's suggestion, we walked to the gravity room. It was as good a place as any to have it out. And, I suppose his thinking was that if things got _heated_ , at least one, or both, of us could let loose without fear of hurting any innocent bystanders. Although, in truth, the consequences of friendly fire was no concern of mine.

He rounded in front of me. “You must be in shock.”

“…Hardly.” I said. “They’ve been _at it_ for months. I’ve been watching from the moment it started.”

Kakarot’s eyebrows lowered and a deep crease formed between them. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Are you telling me that you knew about the two of them all this time and didn’t say anything?”

Somehow, the seriousness of his question flew over my head and it was all I could do to stand there, smirking inanely. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“…No.” He said. “It sounds like three people have acted without stopping to think about the consequences.”

I chuckled. “Impressive! Where on Earth did that come from, Kakarot? Do you have a degree in psychology I don’t know about?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t even go to school. Hell, if it wasn’t for Master Roshi, I doubt I’d have ever learned to read.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather save this conversation about your academic credentials, or lack thereof, for some other time.”

“Then, I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “What are you planning to do?”

The deadening of his expression, the iciness in his eyes and voice, suggested that if I gave the wrong answer, he would see to it that I ended up in, what he called, _deep doo-doo_.

“Actually,” I said. “Before you turned up, I was about to go and buy more sport drinks. Can you believe it? That greedy, inconsiderate, punk kid of yours necked my last one.”

“You know what I meant.”

Of course, I did. He wanted to know, straight-up, whether I had placed a death sentence on Bulma and/or Gohan.

“…Honestly?” I said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“In that case,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

I threw my head back and laughed. The audacity of the clueless prick. He had known about his son’s affair with my wife for all of two minutes and, just like that, he had all the answers?

“Oh, Kakarot, you crack me up.” His deathly serious face only made me laugh all the harder. “Alright then,” I said, once I’d settled down. “Let’s hear it.”

Crossing his arms, he completely overlooked my insolence.

“You have two choices. Number one, hop a spaceship, leave and never come back. I wouldn’t blame you if you did; I could even bring Trunks to visit wherever you end up. Or, two, stay. Work things out with Bulma and move forward together.”

I sniggered. “…That’s it? That’s your sage advice? Well, _thank you_ for stating the painfully obvious but I already made plans to quit this pathetic dirt ball of a planet days ago.”

“So, why are you still here?”

His question blindsided me. I had been too busy enjoying the fleeting little victory from pointing out that I had thought of leaving before him, that I didn’t have time to come up with a clever retort.

I cleared my throat. “…I…uh…guess I wanted a little more time with Trunks.” Instantly, I regretted the sentimental admission and didn’t care how low and nasty I had to stoop in order to counter it. “Turns out, abandoning offspring isn’t as easy as you make it look.”

My attempt to goad him was fruitless. Not that I was surprised. One of Kakarot’s finest qualities was his perverse refusal to acknowledge hostility. Over the years, numerous enemies had tried to engage him in trash talk (I was one of the worst offenders) and no matter how bitter or snide their insults, he let it all wash over him without ever lowering himself to respond in kind. I didn’t exactly regret my jibe but I think, if I hadn’t quickly moved the conversation along, I might have started to feel something alarmingly close to shame.

"Although," I said. "If you hadn’t shown up, I’d have been half way across the solar system by now.”

“…Hmm…” He studied me like an airport immigration officer that didn’t believe my face matched my passport photograph. “Need help packing?...Or are you travelling light?”

“I’ll let you know the arrangements,” I said, keen to take him down a notch. “Once I’ve taken care of business with your son.”

He shook his head. “I won’t let that happen. Aside from the fact that no good will come of it, Gohan is seventeen, he’s still a kid. As his father, I’ll be the one to deal with him. Rest assured, he’s going to face some serious consequences but it’s not your place to get involved.”

My sneery amusement quickly faded. “Where the hell do you get off denying me my day in court?”

“Vindictiveness is a waste of time!” Irritation harshened his voice. “You've made the decision to leave. So, save your energy. You’ll need it for the long journey ahead.”

There must have been some reverse psychology at play because, all of a sudden, my departure plans didn’t seem so appealing. 

“…I don’t know what’s more ridiculous,” I said. “The idea that I should listen to a clown in bear paw slippers or the idea that I should be the one to go when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Hold up.” He said. “Are you saying that you _don’t_ want to leave afterall?”

“Why should I?!?” I snapped. “Why should I have to give up my marriage, my child and my home just because your mongrel brat couldn’t keep his dick in his pants?”

He blinked a few times. “…I understand, Vegeta, but if you stay without any intention of forgiving Bulma and Gohan, then, at best you’ll end up wasting years of your life, bitter and twisted.” He sighed. “And at worst, you’ll end up trying to do something that I’ll be forced to put a stop to.”

I squared up to him. “Is that a threat?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I was just talking hypothetically.”

“Good!” I said. “Because in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one that’s been screwed over.”

“Mmm…That’s true.” He said. “…But only to an extent.”

My eyebrow arched of its own accord. “I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.”

“You knew about Bulma and Gohan, yet, decided to keep it under your hat.” He scratched the back of his head. “Sorry, Vegeta, but that makes you complicit and, unless you have a very good reason, you can’t retrospectively decide that you found what they did unacceptable.”

>>>>>>>!!!!!!

I lunged at him, grabbing a fistful of bathrobe either side of his chest, but he didn’t even flinch.

Our noses almost touched, I felt his breath against my mouth. “Did you get some kind of kick out of watching them together?”

My teeth gritted. “…You really are a low minded, third class sonofa…Grrrr…What do you take me for?” I snarled. “Some sort of cuck?”

“Hey,” he said. “I’m not out to judge. If it wasn’t for the fact that Gohan is wrapped up in all of this, I’d never dream of asking something so personal.”

“…The answer is a resounding no.” I let go of his robe. “Every moment they spent together was cringe inducing.” I crossed my arms and stepped away. “…Get this, he asked permission before kissing her for the first time."

“…If only she’d denied him.”

I twisted around. “If only _he_ hadn’t put her in that position!” 

“But you were there, you could have stopped them! Why didn’t you?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he said. “You must have thought something…felt something…try to remember.”

The air shifted all around me as an almighty wave of energy rolled through my body. “I SAID, I DON’T KNOW!”

“Vegeta, you’re hardly a saint but when it comes to the truth, you’ve never had a problem shooting straight. So, tell me, when Gohan kissed Bulma, and all the times they were intimate after that, what compelled you to watch without taking action?”

Energy aflame, I was ready to knock seven flavours of shit out of him. “GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!”

He remained defiantly, and fearlessly, rooted to the spot. “Answer the question.”

“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE, NOW?”

“If you’re going to remain on Earth, we have to get to the bottom of what happened. I know it’s painful but it’s the only way to start healing.”

To block him out, I powered up harder. Yellow and white energy erupted from every pore on my body. I was desperate for provocation, any excuse to land a sledgehammer of a blow to his jaw.

“…Talk to me, Vegeta,” he said. “I want to help.”

Standing before me as benevolently as a Buddhist spiritual leader, he knew just as well as I did that my turn to violence was nothing more than an attempt to replace shame with self-esteem. If I attacked, he would have bobbed and weaved until I got the message that he was not going to fight back. And, if that didn’t bore me into giving up, the moral lecture that he was sure to throw in as we went along, certainly would. Hell, the mental run-through was draining enough. 

I let my power die down and took a deep, considered, breath. It felt as if I was handing a part of myself over to him; a part that I’d never get back. “…Why did I stand back and allow my wife and your son to fuck with heedless abandon? I’ve been asking myself that question every minute of every day since he first laid hands on her.”

He tilted his head. “And?”

“…I felt nothing…until Gohan took my last drink.”

“You were looking for an excuse to get angry at him.” His voice held a tone of enlightenment. “Any excuse, as long as it didn’t involve confronting his relationship with Bulma.”

I clenched my fists. “THERE WAS NO POINT IN CONFRONTING HER!”

I felt raw and vulnerable, as if I had an open wound and he was holding a salt shaker over it. “She’d have only told me what I already know.”

“Which is?”

My head hung in defeat.

“…That she…no longer loves me.”

Slowly, Kakarot approached. “…Vegeta.”

“Over the years, she got a few thrills and a kid out of me but, ultimately, I was just a novelty.” I swallowed so hard, I thought my Adam’s apple might drop into my stomach. “She’s just another time waster, in a long line of reprobates, to use me and throw me away once they’re done.”

His hand landed on my shoulder and he followed up with a tender squeeze. It was the first kind touch I’d had in ages and I must have been truly desperate because, what should have ended in him receiving a broken wrist, deepened into him wrapping both arms around me and holding me to his chest.

No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t deny that I found comfort in his embrace. The freshly laundered scent of his clothes, the way I felt reassuringly slighted against the bulk of him. 

“…I get it, now.” He spoke in soothing strains. “You were trying to protect yourself from rejection.”

A couple of rogue tears rolled down my cheeks, at which point, I pushed away; fearing I would sprout ovaries if I remained in his arms a moment longer.

“Lucky for Gohan…” I turned my head to the side and spat on the floor, partly because I had become a little congested but mostly because I couldn’t stand for Kakarot to think that I had turned into a massive pussy. “…Because if I'd realised my anger sooner, you would’ve had to scrape him off the ground a handful of guts at a time.”

Kakarot frowned. “Thank goodness we’ve avoided all of that unpleasantness.”

Suddenly, I was overcome with boiling rage; incensed and disgusted that he thought I could be pacified with a few soft words and a three second hug.

I laughed like a jester on hippy crack. “…Sorry to disappoint you, Kakarot, but the next time you see him, he’s going to look like roadkill.”

He placed his hands on his hips, disapprovingly, like when an angry parent scolds a naughty child. “Vegeta!”

“And, before you think about trying to stop me,” I seethed. “Just remember, I’m the most dangerous kind of person there is; one with nothing to lose.”

“…If I knew, for sure, that was true then, maybe, I’d be tempted to fight.”

I wrapped my fist in my other hand then squeezed so every knuckle cracked. “How do I convince you?”

“…Get your arrogant butt upstairs and talk to Bulma. Find out how she feels.”

My tough guy pretence vaporised and I rubbed my face as if trying to sandpaper off old paint. “Didn't you listen to a word I said? It’s a waste of time!”

“What if you’re wrong? What if she still wants you?”

“…I always knew you were a glass half full kind of person, Kakarot, but clearly, your optimism knows no bounds.” I sniggered. “You’re completely delusional.”

“Am I? Or, maybe you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“I’d say Bulma’s _feelings_ were overwhelmingly self-evident. Why else did she end up on Gohan’s dick?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You’ll have to ask her.” A wry grin tugged at his mouth. “Although, if I was you, I probably wouldn’t make that my first question.”

As far as wisecracks went, it was insensitive, lame and, all round, in bad taste. But that allusion to Bulma's tendency to bitch-slap at will was the shot of humour I didn't even know I needed until a chuckle escaped and an irrepressible smirk cut into my cheek . Sure, I wanted to fight Kakarot, topple him, stand over his bloodied, broken body like a big game hunter with a trophy kill, but the one thing I could never do was stay mad at him. Whether I’d been moments from death on Namek or standing opposite him, right there, knowing the life I’d built on Earth had fallen apart, he never failed to gift me with hope.

With the tension broken, his expression softened. “…Do you still love her?”

I sighed. “Do you think I’d have hung around if I didn’t?”

“Guess that’s as close as I’m gonna get to hearing you say those magic words.”

“Hmph!” I was perfectly aware of the childish little grunt I made from time to time. But when words wouldn’t come and silence wouldn’t suffice, it was the only thing that felt right.

He gestured at the door. “I think we should go see how she's holding up. Whaddaya say?”


	9. Heartbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma has bad news for Gohan.

There had been only a few times for which I'd felt seriously grateful to have Kakarot by my side; and returning to face Bulma was right up there. Alone, I stood no chance of unbending the anguish festering between me and her. With my head swimming, and my fists itching to smash the next person or object to irritate me, there was no choice other than to hang back and let my silver-tongued frenemy take charge of the mediation.

After a gentle knock, he opened the bedroom door a fraction.

The woman had gotten dressed, stripped the bed and was laying on it; hugging herself in a foetal position. Kakarot poked his head just inside the room. “Hey, Bulma, can we come in?”

Calm but weepy, she nodded.

I followed in after him. “How are you feeling now?” He asked.

“Goku,” she croaked. “Please don’t hate me.”

He returned her pained gaze with a weak yet genuine smile. “Nobody hates you, Honey.” He looked back expectantly. “Isn’t that right, Vegeta?”

She sat up, as if on a park bench, and stared at me like she’d come late to the puppy farm and I was the last of the litter; the runt no one else wanted to adopt. I wasn’t the perfect specimen she’d hoped for but she’d travelled a long way and could either take me or return home empty handed.

“You…forgive me?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said.

Her eyes, a contrast of stark blue irises and tear bruised sockets, dropped to the floor. “…When Gohan gets back, I’m telling him it’s over.”

“Why?” I asked. “To appease Kakarot?”

She looked up with a modicum of determination. “No!” Hands either side of her hips, she gripped the edge of the mattress. “It has nothing to do with Goku…or you for that matter. I was going to end it anyway.”

I smirked. “Who'd have guessed that being on the receiving end of some clueless kid's jerky, amateur fucking would get boring so soon?”

“Vegeta!” Kakarot barked. “Let her talk.”

She sighed so heavily, it was as if invisible lead weighed down her breath. “I don't want Gohan to grow up and think back on me as some terrible, embarrassing mistake. He should be focusing on school and making friends with kids his own age; not messing around with someone old enough to be his mom. He’s so sweet but he’s clingy and sensitive. I already have a little boy; I don’t need another one.” She wiped a fresh tear from her lower eyelid. “Having you two find out has brought the break-up forward but even if you hadn’t, I could never have carried on with Gohan long term.”

Goku nodded. “…Sounds like the right decision.” 

I crossed my arms. “And I suppose you expect us to go straight back to playing happy families?”

“Happy families?” She glared angrily. “Ever since we got married, you’ve been nothing but mean and moody and, God knows, you don’t wanna go anywhere or do anything! You don’t even wanna talk to me; I’m lucky if I get a grunt!”

Kakarot perked up. “This is good!” He said. “It's healthy to get all those pesky, little pent up issues out in the open.”

I shot him a dirty look. “Shut up, Kakarot.”

“See, Goku?” Said Bulma, gesturing at me in despair. “That attitude is exactly what I'm talking about. I used to find it edgy and amusing but after all these years, it’s beyond tedious.”

“You’re hardly my idea of great company either,” I sneered.

“Boy, and don’t I know it?” She said dramatically. “The only times you act remotely civilised toward me is when you want food!” She narrowed her eyes. “Or sex.”

Kakarot balked. “…Um?…You guys need a minute alone?”

I pointed at her dressing table. It was so cluttered with cosmetics, there was barely a square inch of visible surface. “Maybe, if your hobbies included more than plastering your face in makeup and watching trash TV, I’d have a little more to go on,” I said. “And I don’t know why you’re complaining about our sex life, I always made sure you had a damn good time.”

Kakarot inched towards the door. “I’m just gonna step outside…”

Bulma reached out, forming a stop sign. “Goku, don’t go anywhere! I don’t feel safe around him.”

I cast her a wry smile. “Isn’t that what turned you on in the first place?”

I felt the breeze from Kakarot’s waving jazz hands. “Whoa! We don’t need to get into all of that!”

Bulma snatched the glass ashtray from her nightstand and launched it at me >>>>>>>>>!!!!

But it missed ~*!*~ and shattered upon impact against the wall.

Kakarot threw his arms up like a traffic controller. “ALRIGHT! THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Bulma jabbed a perfectly manicured index finger at me. “But he...”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” He snapped. “Now, settle down, both of you.” He sighed, then went over to get the waste paper basket from under the dressing table and proceeded to gather up, and dispose of, the fragments of broken ashtray. “I hope for Trunks’ sake you don’t behave like this in front of him.”

Bulma’s scowl switched immediately to wide-eyed apprehension. “Of course not!”

“Well, that's a relief,” said Kakarot. “If nothing else, you should commit to being good parents.”

The woman and I regarded each other in uneasy agreement. 

“Although,” he said, as he continued to stoop and retrieve the scattered shards. “It seems to me that you have plenty more in common. You’re both petty, vindictive, selfish, immature…and it sounds like you enjoy some next level bedroom antics…I’d say you’re a match made in heaven.”

The woman’s jaw dropped. “Petty? Vindictive? Selfish?”

“Sorry, Bulma,” he said. “It’s true. Don't get me wrong, I love you and Vegeta but, my God, you’re the biggest pair of assholes I know.”

“I made the worst mistake of my life!” She cried. “And I’ll regret it forever but I don’t want you to think I’m an asshole!”

“Then quit acting like one,” said Kakarot. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself; that goes for you too, Vegeta. Maybe then you'll stand a chance at fixing your marriage.”

He returned the basket from whence it came. “I’m going downstairs to wait for Gohan.”

“Don’t leave!” Plead Bulma, her eyes briefly flicked in my direction. “He’ll probably kill me as soon as your back's turned.”

He sighed in weary indignation. “If I thought, for one second, that Vegeta was going to lay a hand on you, he wouldn’t be standing there right now.”

I grinned. “Regardless of her wellbeing, you’re welcome to try and put me down anytime you want, Kakarot.”

He refocused on the woman. “See? He’s more interested in gunning for me. Anyway, Gohan’s my priority.”

She leapt to her feet. “Wait!”

“Seriously, Bulma,” said Kakarot, without even trying to hide his frustration. “Vegeta isn’t gonna hurt you. The two of you will have to thrash out your problems sooner or later so you might as well get to it while Trunks is outta the way.”

“…It isn’t that,” she said. “Let me deal with Gohan. I don’t want him to think that I’ve roped you in to dump him on my behalf.”

After a couple of moments of consideration, Kakarot nodded. “…Fair enough.” 

I stepped forward. “I also have a request.”

My wife and rival looked at me to go on. “Gohan has no idea that I know about the affair," I said. "And I want it to stay that way. Kakarot, I don’t want you to let on to him that you or I know about it."

I'm sure that, as he processed my statement, he assumed my reasons for insisting on confidentiality centred around pride. Afterall, what man would want it to get out that his wife had turned to a seventeen-year-old for physical and emotional fulfilment? For sure, the fear of further humiliation played a part in my wish to keep the scandal on the down-low; but there was something else too. Some pre-emptive wisdom telling me that it would be best to keep Gohan and Bulma’s secret under wraps for the foreseeable future. 

"Guys?” Said Bulma. “As much as I’d like to keep this whole sorry mess between the three of us, there’s no telling how Gohan will react once I finish with him.”

She went on to theorise that getting dumped would upset the _poor dear_. “What if he dishes to Chi Chi? She won’t rest until the whole world knows what a horrible person I am!” She shuddered. “And I can’t even begin to imagine what she’d do if she got a hold on me…” 

I rolled my eyes at her insufferable melodrama. “It’s your job to convince the kid to keep his mouth shut,” I said. “Shouldn’t be too hard, you have a natural talent for getting him to do whatever you want.”

Kakarot chimed in. “If it’s possible to keep Chi Chi out of it, that would suit me just fine. Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He explained that he was already done in from listening to her harp on about Gohan’s other transgressions – the cigarettes, the backchat, slacking off at school, running away to train with Piccolo. “Bulma,” he said. “If you manage to pull it off, it’ll mean we both dodge a bullet.”

“Yes,” I said. “As will Gohan.”

Kakarot shook his head. “Don’t think, for one minute, that I’m gonna go soft on him. Even without dragging up the…uh... _goings on_ at Capsule Corp, he's still due to receive punishment for all his other bad behaviour. Trust me, that boy is going to be weeding the radish fields until the day he goes to college.”

We wrapped things up by agreeing that Trunks and Goten’s Saturday playdates should continue with Kakarot accompanying his youngest in place of Gohan. “Hey, Vegeta,” he said. “Maybe you and me can go a few rounds in the gravity room? Have a little playdate of our own?” I cringed at his terminology but, noncommittally, went along with the idea. 

Bulma came forward. “Thanks, for everything, Goku.” She hugged him and he reciprocated with a gentle pat to her back. Kakarot was the last person in the world to hold a grudge but knowing she had stolen his kid’s innocence, it was plain to see that he had lost some of the love he once felt for her. “You’re the best friend I could ever ask for,” she said.

He smiled like an angel looking at a baby. “Good luck you two. I hope it all works out.” 

I thought it a little strange when he came and shook my hand but I guess he wanted to show that there was no ill will between us. “Better run along,” I said. “Before your breakfast gets cold.”

He briefly smirked. “…Actually, I think you were right about me losing my appetite.” His hand formed a salute as he touched his forehead. “Later guys.”

He vanished and the woman took a deep breath. I was standing in front of the open doorway and she approached wearing a mask of determination that hid a belly full of nerves. I turned and leaned back against the frame to let her pass, then, just as our bodies aligned, I took hold of her forearm. 

She flinched like she’d been burned.

“Do us all a favour,” I said.

Staring blankly ahead, she swallowed.

“When you kick _him_ to the kerb," I said. "Make it hurt. No letting him down gently, no sugar coating it; you need to break his little heart.”

She snatched her wrist away. “…Are you really that spiteful?”

“Yes,” I said. “But that’s not the point. The boy’s so in love that anything less than total devastation will leave him thinking that he’s still in with a chance.”

With one last hostile glance, she left; walking the hall as if land mines were buried under the carpet. Both of us knowing that, with a flick of my wrist, I could reduce her to a pile of ash…or redecorate the walls and ceiling with her blood.

* * *

I remained out of sight while Bulma waited for Gohan on the drive and it wasn’t long before he pulled up. Behind the windscreen, he broke out into a wide, beaming smile and scrambled out of the car to greet her with such enthusiasm that I thought he might go full puppy and start licking her face.

But when she failed to respond in kind, his gleeful expression turned to concern. Then, as she spoke, confusion robbed him of positivity altogether.

I was too far away to hear what was being said but everything about their body language screamed ‘break-up’.

The raising of his eyebrows, the intense straining of his eyes as he searched hers, his fingertips raking over his temples and slotting into his hair, the pacing, the failed attempt to take her hands in his.

By the time she turned away from him, she was in tears; her hand covering her mouth and nose as she trotted back into the house. For a few seconds, Gohan was stunned and had to wait for the effect to fade before running after her. 

That’s when I decided to step in.

I entered through the back of the building and ended up crossing paths with Bulma along the hall, whereupon, she sprinted around me.

Gohan appeared a moment later but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me.

He looked anaemic, shaken and on the verge of crying.

I smiled magnanimously. “Hey, kid,” I said. “Something wrong? You're whiter than Chao Tzu after seeing a ghost.”

He cleared his throat.

“…I…I need to talk with Bulma.”

“Let me guess.” I rubbed my chin in faux contemplation, “Did Trunks give you a hard time on the way to school?”

Tight lipped, he stared at the floor hard enough that I thought he might burn a hole in the carpet.

“You shouldn’t put up with it,” I said, pacing steadily toward him. “There’s only one way to deal with punks that step out of line.” 

>>>>>!

My fist flew at him, stopping a hair’s width from his nose. The spiky bangs over his forehead quivered in the resulting breeze. His eyebrows leapt up and his pupils fell inward as he went cross-eyed to focus on my tight, white knuckles.

“Show the jumped-up little prick that you mean business.” I grinned like a maniac. “He won’t give you any trouble after that.”

With a husky chuckle, I lowered my arm, then, just as he was about to speak, I cut him off. “By the way, your father dropped in while you were gone.”

Several parts of the kid’s face twitched at once.

“Sorry to say, he wasn’t his usual sunny-side-up self.” I moved in close enough that he took a step back. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Gohan.” His sympathetic nervous system went into overdrive; eyes darting side to side as he tried to get a read on me and, at the same time, decide between fight or flight.

Lopsided and sinister, I smiled. “Time to go home.”

For a second, I thought he was going to react in some extreme way; shout, cry, attack. Maybe even lay bare the truth about all that had gone on with my wife. But, with a concerted effort to remain straight-faced, he weathered my leeriness. “…Tell Bulma, I’ll call her later.”

He waited for some sort of acknowledgement or farewell but when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to get one, he backed away as if I was a venomous snake.


	10. Wayfinding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta and Bulma try each other's patience.

After answering the front door, I thanked the delivery guy and cradled the crimson bouquet like it was a newborn. There must have been two dozen roses. Artisan chocolates too.

I made my way to the living room where Bulma and Trunks were watching TV. The floor was scattered with a multitude of toys, making it look as if we were the type of despicable slob family that couldn’t care less about basic housekeeping.

Ordinarily, Trunks was discouraged from bringing junk down from his room. But since cutting Gohan loose the previous week, Bulma let our son have, and do, whatever he wanted. On a mere whim, he was taken to the toy store or the ice cream shop or the movies. He was treated to so many designer sneakers that he could have gone a whole month without wearing the same pair twice. And then, there were the sleeping arrangements.

From the day Gohan left, mother and son became permanent bed buddies. I might have thought it cute had they not been snuggling right where the teenager used to drill the woman several inches deep into the memory foam. 

At first, I put her clinginess down to a need for comfort and affection. A crutch to help her through the painful aftermath of the affair. But I quickly realised that there was something more to it. 

Anytime Trunks wandered further than ten feet, she grew anxious and called him back. What's more, whenever she and I were in the same room, her unease became even more apparent. It was as if she had lost all ability to sit still. Constantly fidgeting, she’d wrap a lock of hair around her finger and tug until stray strands fell out. Or, while sitting with one leg crossed over the other, she flexed and rotated her ankle, drawing circles in the air with the tip of her shoe. Every few seconds, she glimpsed me from the corner of her eye, her hands clasping and fumbling as if performing shadow puppetry.

Eventually, the penny dropped. 

Her inseparability from the boy wasn’t down to love. It was out of fear.

Of me. 

Our son didn’t know it but his job was to serve as a pint-sized bodyguard in case I flipped and tried to harm his mother.

And if that wasn’t unhealthy enough, she encouraged him to take absurd liberties. Instead of adhering to set eating times, Trunks was allowed to choose when he ate and what went into his meals. I say ‘meals’ but they were hideous concoctions – peanut butter, jelly and French fry sandwiches, barbecue rib and pineapple pizza, chicken nuggets smothered in hot fudge sauce. Actually, he changed his mind about the latter only to be indulged with a replacement dinner of cheeseburgers with Belgian waffles in place of bread buns.

I even caught the little fucker strolling around the kitchen drinking ranch dressing straight from the bottle.

On my watch, none of that subnormal bullshit was allowed to slide. But I regret not putting my training on hold to take full control. In my defence, time spent in the gravity room was the medicine keeping me sane in what was a period of pure turmoil. Besides, my usual schedule wouldn’t have been a problem if Trunks had been going to school like he was supposed to.

Without my knowledge, Bulma made an executive decision to keep him at home. And to stop the education authorities from crawling up our asses, she invented some far-flung story about taking the boy to visit a terminally ill relative clear across the country.

No school meant no more early starts. Add to the mix a daily dose of Christmas-like extravagance and it was easy to see why Trunks was on cloud nine. Although, on the second day of his unofficial vacation, he stopped to question all the newfound special treatment.

Bulma knelt before him and took his hands in hers. “For a while, I wasn’t a very good mommy," she said. "So, I wanna make it up to you.”

The explanation worked like a charm and he didn’t ask again.

I, on the other hand, was livid that Trunks was missing out on his education. But, when I insisted on hiring a professional homeschool tutor, I was met with quivering eyes and fretfulness. “It wouldn’t be good for him to deal with any new people or changes,” said Bulma. “We need to focus on _family time_.”

'Family time', my ass. Her and the boy’s days were squandered playing make-believe and watching trash TV. Each night, they stayed up so late that rolling out of bed before lunch time became something of an achievement. So haywire was the daily routine, that even if I'd side-stepped Bulma and proceeded to hire a tutor, Trunks would never have coped with having to get up early and work.

I felt horribly undermined which, against my better judgement, led me to carry out some rather passive aggressive acts.

As I entered the living room, Trunks propped himself up on the sofa armrest. “Wow!”

Bulma’s eyes and mouth went round. Cellophane and paper crackled as I lent over and placed the roses and candy in her lap. “…For you.”

She tore the message card from the stems just before Trunks scrambled over with unbridled glee. “Is that chocolate?”

The woman turned away to inspect the box without him seeing. Once she was sure there were no messages hidden inside, she handed it over. “Stay here, Sweetie.”

I was already halfway along the hall by the time she caught up.

Stilettos stabbed the floor behind. I stopped. The rustle of bouquet wrapping announced her attack. 

“GRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>!

There was a tickle between my shoulder blades and a burst of heavenly fragrance as rose petals fell like blood rain.

Over and over, my back was lashed. “FUCKING PRICK!!!!!”

I laughed. The onslaught didn’t hurt at all and anyway, within seconds, Bulma’s arm tired. The once glorious blooms were reduced to naked green spindles and my usually glamorous wife, similarly, looked worse for wear. Hair dishevelled, dress strap draping down her arm, panting, scowling. 

I was still reeling from her fling with Gohan but if not for that, I would have been turned on.

Then again, I’m not sure I wasn’t.

After so much lethargy, it was refreshing to see her fiery side; and I knew exactly how to keep it stoked. “Well?” I said. “What profound, iridescent balladry has he penned this time?”

Despite making it clear to Gohan that she wanted nothing more to do with him, he continued in his pursual. When his attempts to contact her cell phone were blocked, he went ahead and left countless messages with Capsule Corp’s receptionist. He begged incessantly to have his calls returned which became a great source of distress to Bulma. So much so that strict instructions were left with staff not to respond to his communications or to pass them on.

Still, the kid refused to be deterred.

'Anonymous' deliveries of flowers, greeting cards, stuffed animals and boxes of chocolates turned up on a daily basis. All with soppy notes attached. 

_‘I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.’_

_‘I want you more than anything.’_

_‘You’re my whole world.’_

The gift-giving spoke volumes about Gohan's desperation. And not only in terms of how much he was pining for the woman; rather, he didn't seem to give a fuck that I might stumble across his tacky little gestures. Surprisingly, his disdain failed to anger me; on the contrary, I was excited at the possibility of him showing up to declare his undying affection in person so that, at last, we could settle the score in a manner befitting a pair of saiyan warriors. 

But, just as it was with the nuisance phone calls, Bulma couldn’t stomach his offerings.

While we faced off in the hall, she glanced at the card in her palm, threw what remained of the bouquet on the floor and readied herself to rip up whatever had been written.

>>>>>>>!

To her shock, before she could finish blinking, I snatched out and took it.

She came at me with both hands. I stopped her with one.

With a firm yet playful grip on her throat, I kept her at arm’s length; and read aloud with an irrepressible smirk.

“ _I can’t live without you.”_ The card sailed down to the floor like a dead butterfly. “Isn’t that adorable? I mean, aside from the suicidal undertones.”

She clawed at my forearm. “What the hell were you thinking?!?” she screeched. “What if Trunks saw?!?”

I suggested that she would have done well to ask that very question back before she saw fit to fuck Gohan right under our son’s nose. But, apart from a grunt of disgust, she gave no response. She backed off, though. Dropping to her knees and weeping among the fallen petals.

* * *

Conflict resolution had never been my strong suit. As far as I’m concerned, anything that takes more than a minute to discuss isn’t worth the hassle. On the morning of Gohan’s departure, my feelings of revulsion were still fresh but thanks to Kakarot’s little pep talk, Bulma felt pressured into taking a _proactive_ approach towards our marriage crisis. 

Beforehand, we spent most of the day avoiding each other. She curled up in Trunks’ bed and stayed there until it was time to pick him up from school. I trained. And if it hadn’t been for a tug at my side during a water break in the hall, I would have carried on in the gravity room; punishing my body until I passed out from exhaustion. I didn’t care. Anything was better than stopping to think about our family’s fate.

Trunks grinned up at me. “Hey Dad!” He said. “Mom’s waiting for you out front.” Apparently, she needed me to accompany her but had offered no explanation as to why. Naturally, Trunks surmised that the ‘real’ reason she had specifically asked for me (and the reason she intended to leave him at home) was because we had plans to buy him a surprise present.

Ordinarily, I had zero tolerance for petty gameplaying but because the day’s events had taken their toll, it seemed easier to go along with the charade than make excuses to wriggle out of it. And so, I obliged Bulma’s request, leaving Trunks in the care of his grandparents.

Sure enough, she was in her car, right where he said she’d be; and, without thinking too much about her true motives, I slid into the passenger seat.

She removed her sunglasses. Beneath the mascara and concealer, her pink waterlines hinted at a great many tears shed. “…So,” she said. “Are we doing this?”

_‘This’_

I knew at once what she meant. Although, it seemed ludicrous that such a tiny, disconcertingly vague word should encapsulate so much. That is to say, the long, rocky road back to matrimonial harmony.

“…You’ve parked in a red zone,” I said. “If I was you, I’d get a move on.”

Somewhere, buried amongst my pedantry, there was a ‘yes’.

And she knew me well enough to find it.

As rush-hour approached, the roads became increasingly congested. Traffic fumes blended with the late afternoon sunshine, painting West City in a sickly yellow light. The atmosphere between Bulma and I was just as off-colour. Tentative, to say the least. But I was adamant that it was not my job to ease it. Evidently, she felt the same and broke the ice by jesting that if it hadn’t been for Trunks playing messenger, I never would have joined her. Of course, the whole point of our little mystery tour was to _talk_ away from him and his grandparents. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my diplomatic head on and when she began to explain that some desperate, misguided feeling of loneliness had driven her to find solace in Gohan’s arms, I immediately lost patience. And not just because it was a weak excuse.

“Woman,” I said. “You have no idea what loneliness is.”

Having been blessed with dizzying wealth, extreme privilege and a two-parent nuclear family, Bulma’s idea of being lonely consisted of that time when she was sixteen and in want of a boyfriend. Or, seven years ago, when she waited a whole week between separating from Yamcha and getting together with me.

But about long-haul, pin drop silent solitude, she knew nothing. She could never imagine what it was like to spend half her life cramped up in, what was little more than, a cannon ball with a porthole; looking out only to be greeted with the never-ending blackness of space. 

Or standing in the middle of a ghost town, breathing in the scent of death, after murdering its entire population. Killing as fast as possible, not out of mercy, but because the sooner the genocide was complete, the sooner the planet could be flipped. And sometimes, just sometimes, that meant being rewarded with a word or two of praise from the devil horned, fish lipped, cunting megalomaniac that destroyed home.

In the past, Bulma pleasured herself whenever she found herself between lovers (happened a lot on Planet Namek, apparently). But she could never know what it was to be so chronically untouched that she might consider trading innocence for toxic intimacy. To be a fourteen-year-old orphan, half asleep and have the likes of Zarbon come looking for company. His wine scented breath against an ear unaccustomed to kindliness; his hand wedged between young thighs that didn't want to part. 

_"…Hear me out, Handsome. You want to go up in the ranks, don’t you? I can make it happen in a fraction of the time that it would otherwise take. All you have to do is lay still for me, and keep quiet…"_

The back of my fist met the pale blue face leering over my shoulder, seeing to it that my ability to sit on hard surfaces wasn’t compromised. But the consequences were hardly worth it. Zarbon got his revenge (I paid with a couple of broken ribs and a fractured wrist). Then, he made sure to turn Frieza’s top brass against me. Singled out, berated, overlooked; I kept my own company. And every once in a while, I woke up, only to swap nightmare filled sleep for maddening alienation, the voice in my head saying … _No more. End it. What’s the point of going on?…_

Without indicating, Bulma swerved into the outside lane. “I wasn’t trying to compare my life to yours,” she said. “I just want you to understand where my head was at. I messed up, big time, and I can’t even put into words how sorry I am.

“I didn’t ask for an apology,” I said. “And I don’t want one.”

It’s not that I was trying to be difficult. The fact was that I had always found acceptance preferable to forgiveness. _I’m sorry_ is such an ineffectual, throwaway term; which is why I never used it. Likewise, though her infidelity entitled me to victim status, it was a label I outright refused to wear.

Bulma, however, struggled with my viewpoint. She argued that I was trying to downplay my hurt, put on a 'tough guy' act. And because she wasn’t concentrating on driving, we were on a collision course with the kerb. I reached for the steering wheel and straightened the car up.

“As far as I’m concerned,” I said. “Fucking Gohan was payoff.”

She gasped, tearing her eyes away from me to refocus on the road, “What?!?”

For the nights not spent together, for withholding affection, for all the put-downs and sneering, for the silent standoffs. “In short,” I said. “It’s the price I had to pay for being me.”

She hit the steering wheel with the heel of her hand, “NO!”

Her wrist went limp as she shook the pain from the affected area and explained that fooling around with Gohan had never been about spite. It was pure escapism, she said. He awoke something in her. From the first look of lust, she was helplessly addicted, swept away in the rush of it. “I felt like I was more than just a mom; or an engineer in baggy overalls that fixes the gravity room.” She was fully aware that getting involved with him was all kinds of wrong. “But I couldn’t stop,” she said.

I pointed out that she could have revelled in his attention without going as far as fucking him.

“He had a girlfriend,” she said. “I was worried that, if I didn’t give him a reason to stay sweet on me, he would lose interest and focus solely on her.” She let out a despairing burst of laughter. “Has to be the worst case of FOMO, ever.”

My expression remained deadpan.

She glanced across, hesitating before speaking. “…I…” Hands tightening on the steering wheel, she took a breath and started over. “…Despite what I did…I never stopped loving you.”

The futility of her words had me laughing uncontrollably.

She sighed. “If I could go back in time…”

Her remorse seemed almost scripted; as if she’d lifted lines from a soap opera. In any case, I was far from placated. The more she spoke, the more I felt simultaneously tickled and insulted until, in a sudden outburst of intolerance, I raised my fist and blasted the roof off the car.

She screamed. We veered all over the road. Metal screeched as it peeled back overhead and debris went flying into the traffic behind. A frantic symphony of horns blared.

I unfastened my seatbelt. “Next time, I’ll drive.”

And without a second thought for the woman’s wellbeing, or the roadworthiness of the car, I flew up and away.

* * *

Half a continent from home, I took my fury out on the mountains. Punching frost covered rocks until my knuckles turned the colour of blueberries. Roaring at snow blanketed heights until avalanches crashed downhill. Diving from the sky and piledriving into an oceanside glacier. Like a living, breathing ice pick, I chiselled off a block the size of an apartment building and floated back to watch the choppy water erupt in a huge misty splash followed by an almighty frothing tidal wave

By the time I returned to Capsule Corp, it had gone midnight.

In the kitchen, I took the orange juice out of the refrigerator. Slippered footsteps sounded from behind. I chose to ignore them. At least, to begin with.

“…Sex was always better with you.” 

I turned to face Bulma. “How’s the car?”

My refusal to rise to her salacious opening statement caused her face to break out in a look of surprise. Although, she didn’t bother to call me out on my apparent lack of interest.

She buried her hands in her bath robe pockets. “It’s a write off.”

I proceeded to drink straight from the carton; a stunt which normally earned me a high-pitched scolding. But she simply shrugged and smiled half-heartedly. “I was thinking of getting a new one anyway.”

When I continued to blank her, she resumed the attention-grabbing seriousness with which she had first approached. “…It’s true,” she said, back on the subject of getting laid. “…With _him_ , there were a lot of times when it didn’t even feel good. Physically, emotionally…”

I placed the carton on the counter and crossed my arms. “…Am I supposed to care?”

Her eyebrows arched. “Well, no. But in case you were wondering…”

“I’m not.”

She turned to the refrigerator door and rearranged a couple of decorative magnets. “I know you don’t wanna hear any excuses,” she said. “So, I thought I’d try being more _direct._ ”

She lamented not having a silver bullet, crafted of perfect words, with the power to shoot straight to the heart of our predicament. “All I can do now, is prove that I’ll never betray you again.” She acknowledged that regaining my trust would be an arduous task; and that it may not ever be possible. “If it’ll help,” she said. “Feel free to ask anything about _what went on_ with Gohan.”

“That won’t be necessary.” I said, and explained, just as I had to Kakarot, that thanks to my surveillance throughout the affair, I was already clear on the matter. As expected, she was shocked, horrified and hopelessly confused. Then came a demand to know why I had felt the need to watch her and the teenager fuck time and time again.

When I told her of my need to know the truth, that it was all I had by way of control over the situation, she seemed to empathise. Nodding politely as I recounted some of what I’d witnessed. And when I lowered the tone and revealed that, in my estimation, the kid had given me a run for my money in the erection department, she reassured me that I was being far too generous. “You must have seen him from a flattering angle or something.” I joked that the only way to settle it would be to get me and Gohan side by side and measure up. She rolled her eyes and absorbed the snipe but when I suggested that she’d need to get us both hard first, she had a sense of humour fail. 

“Lighten up, Woman,” I said, grinning at her twisted face. “You obviously like playing around with big saiyan dicks. Think of how much fun you could have with two.” 

After that, all pretence of civility fell apart. She was outraged that I had violated her privacy and the words ‘pervert’, ‘sicko’ and ‘freak’ were bandied around. 

I gave as good as I got. “If you hadn’t carried on like a bitch in heat, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

She held out to exchange a couple more insults but, in the end, the emotional gravity of it all ground her down and she sloped away. A bawling mess, held together by little more than snot and shame.


	11. Playdate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma, Vegeta and Trunks meet Videl.

Bulma and I often talked long into the night about where we had gone wrong. Going around and around in circles, picking over our history with a fine-toothed comb, recounting every little mistake.

Sometimes, it felt as if we were inching towards a truce – she’d make breakfast for me, I’d fetch her magazines from the mailbox. Other times, we took three steps back.

“DON’T HAVE TIME TO FIX MY TRAINING EQUIPMENT” I yelled. “BUT YOU FOUND TIME TO FUCK KAKAROT’S BRAT AROUND THE CLOCK!”

Many plates, glasses and vases were launched as part of her equally loud and profane response. I laughed as every shot missed and eventually left the scene out of boredom. A short while later, I found her slumped on the sofa. The pitiful sight left me feeling a little cut up but when I told her the gravity room could wait, she glared at me with red-faced scorn. “I already said I’ll fix it. In fact, I want to fix it!” 

“In that case,” I said. “What’s with the moping?”

She screamed as if I should have already known. “I MISS GOHAN!” Flopping onto her side, she hugged a cushion. Then, in one of the worst displays of childish indignity I’d ever seen, she lay face down, kicking and punching like a toddler having a tantrum. “WHY DID I PUSH HIM AWAY? I WISH I’D CHOSEN HIM OVER YOU!”

I should have ignored her but that shrill, hysterical, wailing brought out the sheer venom in me.

With a firm tug, I gathered her hair in a ponytail and snarled in her ear. “Grow the fuck up!”

All the shouting, screaming and swearing was part of the healing process. So was the time, later that night, when she came to me, face mottled from crying, and drenched my chest with tears.

As she told me over and over how sorry she was, I stood still, arms by my sides, and said nothing. I had always struggled to comfort her; even in the unsullied, harmonious years of our marriage. She’d sob at movies with sad endings but no matter how much I reminded her that what she had viewed was pure fiction, she remained inconsolable. 

That said, I was struck by an urge to reciprocate her hug and offer a few civilised words.

Unfortunately, for me, spite was a reflex. 

All compassion evaporated and, suddenly, it was as if my memory had been fitted with a blue TV camera lens. The kind used to film serial crime dramas. Through it, I viewed images of her straddling Gohan, riding him like a stolen thoroughbred, her tits filling his palms, hips grinding into his, harder, faster, head back, sweat rolling down her spine, her cries bouncing around my head like an echo chamber. 

Back in the real world, she whinged about guilt fuelled sleep deprivation and exhaustion from indulging Trunks’ every whim.

I pulled her wrists from my shoulders. “…You brought it on yourself.”

She staggered back, bottom lip quivering, eyes glacier blue under the sheen of tears.

* * *

Though I took a hard line with the woman, she didn't have to survive without emotional support for long.

The Saturday after Gohan’s departure, Kakarot was true to his word and brought Goten to play which meant that Trunks was happily distracted and Bulma had a shoulder to cry on.

Sitting contentedly, Kakarot listened as she offloaded about everything from her guilty conscience to the child therapists she had short listed in the event that Trunks found out about her and Gohan. It was critical that she fed Kakarot, of course, but it was a small price to pay for his endless patience. What’s more, I had no qualms about leaving the two of them alone.

Theirs was a friendship akin to siblinghood.

Years ago, I asked Bulma why she and Kakarot had never become romantically involved. “It’s not that I don’t find him attractive,” she said. “He just doesn’t _challenge_ me.”

When I asked the same question of Kakarot, he laughed. “Bulma’s great and all but she and I don’t have a whole lot in common. She’s a city girl, I’m a country boy; we'd have driven each other crazy.”

Sufficed to say, their mutual reserve paid off. Their bond, pure and untainted by sexual chemistry, meant that they could weather the Gohan crisis without a drop of hypocrisy.

Kakarot dished out forgiveness like confetti and much of Bulma’s profuse apologising was redundant. “It’s all in the past, now,” he said. And by the end of the visit, the two of them were able to make light of the situation. Namely, the world of vice that Gohan was no longer free to enjoy. Sex on tap, alcohol and cigarettes, staying up late, R rated movies, no chores, and no nagging Chi Chi.

Kakarot smiled wryly. “No wonder he didn’t wanna come home.”

On the whole, I was glad that they had their little tête-à-têtes. Although, on Kakarot's second visit, Bulma became particularly rueful and he reassured her by disclosing most of what he and I had discussed back when the affair came out. It’s not as if I had sworn him to secrecy but I couldn’t help feeling that my confidence had been betrayed. 

At least, when it came to confronting me, the woman was discreet. She waited until Trunks fell asleep before seeking me out in the lab. I was writing notes about some adjustments I needed her to make to the laser drones when she came in and told me that Kakarot had revealed I still had feelings for her. “Don’t be mad at Goku,” she said. “I’m glad he told me. If we love each other, we’ll get through this.”

I put my pen down and leaned against the desk. “ _Love?_ Sounds like Kakarot’s memory is on the blink.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “So, you _didn’t_ tell him that you loved me?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “He asked, I didn’t deny it. That’s all.”

She clasped her hands together in hope. “…Well, do you?”

I stared at her until she couldn’t bear to look back. She was about to prompt me, once more, to answer when I cut in.

“…Yes,” I said. “I love you.”

She inflated with happiness and seemed mildly intrigued as I walked toward her.

“…At the same time,” I said. “I can’t fucking stand you.”

She gasped and covered her mouth.

I stopped in front of her. “It was foolish to let you get under my skin in the first place.”

Her eyelashes trembled; dry one second, beaded with tears the next.

“…You might as well come straight out and say what you think of me,” she said.

I let out an amused little snort. “And what, precisely, is that?”

With a deep breath, she refocused, fixing me with a determined yet pained gaze. “I’m a slut…a disgusting whore.”

Finally, tears rolled fresh and fat, down her pink cheeks.

“…You’re wrong,” I said. “I never thought that. Not even for a second.”

Her eyebrows sank together in confusion.

“ _Whores_ … _sluts_ …they get a bad rap though, if you ask me, it's completely undeserved,” I said. “At the end of the day, they're honest. They don’t hide behind false fronts of respectability and domestic bliss. And they certainly don’t chew up and spit out vows to forsake all others.”

Strands of hair stuck to her wet face, I tucked them behind her ear. “But if you’re looking for a label, _my love_ , then try _adulteress_ on for size. Sounds a little classier than _whore,_ doesn’t it?”

She looked down. Clearly, my words hurt, and yet, the shame in her eyes suggested it was deserved. “I’ve been trying really hard, Honey,” she murmured. “I thought you wanted to move forward together. But it feels like all you wanna do is pick fights with me.”

She rabbited on about how we should try marriage counselling. Or go on vacation, just the two of us, and leave Trunks with his grandparents. All of which I dismissed as a waste of time.

“Let’s be honest,” I said. “The forgive and forget routine isn’t working out. So, here’s the deal.”

No more going over old ground. No more arguing. No more apologising. No more crying. I wanted more time to lick my wounds before deciding whether to limp on or make alternative plans. 

She fired off a few ‘whys’ and 'what ifs’ but after I threatened to leave right there and then, she agreed to my terms and conditions with a solemn nod.

* * *

The day of Kakarot’s third visit arrived and I intended to remind him that, in future, anything he and I discussed was to remain strictly between the two of us. 

Several minutes before answering the door, I became aware of two powers heading for Capsule Corp. I recognised Goten’s but the other was different – weak, irregular. I didn’t pay it much mind and dismissed it as Kakarot fooling around.

Normally, the greeting of guests was left to Bulma but I wanted to collar him before she could rope him into another one of their amateur therapy sessions. So, I waited in the lobby, ready to pounce. Sure, enough, the doorbell chimed. But upon opening the door, the 6’2 spiky haired goofball that I was expecting, was nowhere to be seen.

…..!

In his place, there were striking eyes, violet like the inner most band on a rainbow. Dewy, flawless skin. Hair as raven as any saiyan’s, tied in pig tails which fell over firm, perky tits.

“Hi!” Said the girl.

Goten stood at her side; though I hardly registered his presence. I was also slow to notice the picnic hampers that he and the girl were holding.

The squeak of sneaker soles on polished tiles rapidly approached from behind. “Goten!”

Kakarot’s youngest brushed passed my legs. “Trunks!”

As soon as my son noticed the girl, he skidded to a halt and stared quizzically. “Who’s she?” He whispered.

The girl smiled warmly. “Hi there. Trunks, right?”

He looked at me as if to ask what to do. Bulma and I had brought him up not to talk to strangers but I’d wager his sudden inability to articulate a simple ‘hello’ was down to the first stirring of hormones rather than shyness.

And speaking of Bulma, the sound of high heels proclaimed her arrival. She emerged from the hall whereupon the sight of the girl acted as a kind of alarm. The woman did a double take, her eyes went wide and alert and her posture straightened. “Oh?” With a sort of animalistic caution, she proceeded with slow considered steps. “Hello?”

“Oh dear,” said the girl. “I thought Goku was gonna call you guys and give you a heads up but it’s obvious that hasn’t happened.”

I stood aside as Goten took hold of her free hand and led her in. “This is Videl,” he said. 

If, at that moment, Bulma had been enjoying a drink, she would have spat out the contents of her mouth. As it was, she gawked in shock while Goten went on. “She’s babysitting me today ‘cause Gohan used potty language in front of Mommy and Daddy had to stay home to punish him.”

Before I could chew over that amusing little snippet, Videl glanced at the hamper under her arm. “We brought a picnic for everyone. Chi Chi made it. I think she felt bad after hearing about how much Goku ate on his last couple of visits here.”

By that point, Bulma found her voice and erupted in nervous laughter. “Where are my manners?! Come right on in.” 

She made light of Kakarot’s inability to communicate and gushed with fake enthusiasm about how _nice_ it was to finally meet Videl and that Chi Chi had sung her praises during their many phone calls.

Videl responded in kind. Apparently, Gohan’s family had spoken very highly of ours and when it came to Bulma’s high-flying corporate career, the teenager positively fawned. “I can’t believe I’m talking to the Queen of Capsule Corp.”

The girl’s arresting charm (underscored by the guilt and horror of fucking Gohan) had Bulma spluttering like a drowning swimmer; she had to clear her throat before answering. “…Uh?...Capsule Corp?…Queen?…That’s me.”

Then it was my turn and I, too, almost forgot myself while staring into that beautiful, doll-like face.

“On the subject of royalty,” she said. “Is it true that you’re an actual prince?”

As my eyebrow twitched, I hoped I didn’t come across overly suspicious. “…Who told you that?”

She giggled. “Well, Goku happened to mention it.”

I crossed my arms and Bulma’s expression soured. “Is that so?” I said. Her cheerful demeanour suggested that she hadn’t been informed about the darker chapters of my past but I wanted to be sure all the same.

“What else did he say about me?”

She shrugged. “Not much. Just that you and him go way back.” Excitement flickered in her eyes as she recalled watching me, along with Gohan and the others, on TV back when we defeated Cell. “It was the most amazing fight I’ve ever seen!” 

Bulma coughed. “Trust me, _my husband_ already knows how good of a fighter he is. So, please, save your compliments; his ego is big enough as it is.”

She managed to inject just enough humour into her snide little remark that it passed for a joke. But in highlighting her claim over me, she couldn’t have sounded more insecure, jealous or possessive if she tried. 

“At least Vegeta earned the right to feel proud of himself,” said Videl. “…Um…My dad was there too. Hercule Satan?”

I remembered the guy - useless, cowardly, weak, blustering, frizzy haired moron. “Sure,” I said. “How could I forget?”

She expressed a great deal of humility when explaining that, although, he was a passionate martial artist, he often used _unconventional_ tactics to get the edge over his opponents. Bombs, poison, false charm, bribery. Pretty much the same bag of tricks that he used to get ahead in his career as a politician. “He’s a good guy, really,” she said. “But sometimes he gets carried away with the whole celebrity thing. Likes to put on a good show for the fans.”

Bulma remarked that the girl’s father had been repeatedly voted in as mayor of Satan City and, therefore, must have been doing something right. But before anyone could drag the withering conversation on any further, Trunks interrupted.

“Are you Gohan’s girlfriend?”

Bulma gasped, then put her hands on her hips. “Trunks! Don’t ask personal questions.”

But being the easy-going delight that she was, Videl laughed it off without a second thought. “It’s ok,” she said. “Actually, Gohan and I are so busy with school, we hardly have time to eat, let alone date.”

She went on to ask what the drill was with regard to the boys’ playdate and, at that point, it really hit home that Bulma and I must have made a truly dreadful first impression upon her. No proper greeting, no formal introductions, she had been kept out on the doorstep and, still, she was loaded up with the feast that Chi Chi had prepared.

Trunks, who had regained his confidence and whose interest in the girl was growing more keen by the second, went right up to her. “Wanna come see my train collection?”

Videl beamed. “That sounds awesome!” She reaffirmed her grip on the hamper. “But we should probably put this somewhere safe first.”

Bulma suggested taking the food into the kitchen which inspired Trunks to jump up and down. “I’ll show you where it is!” He said. Then proceeded to relieve her of the heavy load. “I can carry that for you.

She giggled. “Wow! You’re strong!” He blushed as she ruffled his hair. “And what a little gentleman.”

Goten lifted his hamper above his head one-handed. “I’m strong too, Videl! See?”

“I know you are, Cutie Pie.”

Trunks frowned. “Not as strong as me!”

The three kids walked out of sight, bickering and laughing as they went. I was about to make some smarmy, smart ass comment to Bulma – something about how well Gohan had done to score such an attractive girl. But she beat me to the punch. Sashaying over, her lips formed a tight line and her eyes said ‘don’t mess with me’.

She ran her index finger under my chin. “Close your mouth, _Hun_. And put your tongue away…or the pretty girl might get the wrong idea.”


	12. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta is caught in the sweet grip of temptation.

After going without sex for six months, I could no longer ignore my testosterone charged urges. And I didn’t even try to pretend that I wasn’t rubbernecking at Videl. 

She and the boys were playing some sort of chasing game in the garden while Bulma and I watched on from a distance. Narrowed eyes, drawn brows, pursed red lips; Bulma’s jealous stare chomped away at the side of my skull. She said nothing, though. How could she? She would have choked on her own rank hypocrisy.

In all honesty, Videl wasn’t the only eye candy I had devoured. And, what could I say? I got a taste for it.

Back when Bulma was preoccupied with Gohan, I started lusting after some of Capsule Corp’s more attractive female employees and would swing by at the beginning and end of the working day just to catch a glimpse of tits and asses bound up in tight blouses and pencil skirts. 

In one of my more desperate moments, I even thought about making a move on my mother-in-law.

She’d always had a _thing_ for me and, for the first time ever, I considered acting upon it. She looked good for her age and I figured she’d appreciate a decent fuck. Especially since Bulma’s father hadn’t been able to get it up since the age of fifty and, on the rare occasions he bothered to pleasure his wife, he had to rely on Viagra.

By entertaining the idea of other women, I was in danger of losing the moral high ground. I didn’t care. Morals don’t keep anyone warm at night. 

Fit teenage bodies, however, do the job perfectly. And no one knew that better than my wife.

She crossed her arms. “Hmpf! Why don’t you go over and ask if _she’ll_ let you play? You’re obviously desperate to join in.”

She stared at me expectantly. Silently demanding that the shame of leering at Videl should come to the surface and show itself. Instead, I smirked. “…That’s not a bad idea. Hope she likes to _play_ rough.”

As I headed towards the kids, Bulma (in a childish attempt to deny me the satisfaction of having her watch my interaction with Videl), got up and stormed away. It made no difference. I wasn’t looking to point score. I simply wanted distraction. A short break away from the pit of negativity that our post-affair homelife had become.

I was like an emotional vampire and Videl, all bright eyes, clean slate, positive vibes and fresh-faced vitality, was the perfect feed. 

Upon closing in on my mark, a pang of self-consciousness had me second guessing my decision to accost a seventeen-year-old girl. The risk of rejection, awkwardness and humiliation was high; especially if I said anything too risqué, or allowed too much lust to smoulder in my eyes. Fortunately, my alpha male attributes kicked in. Arrogance bitch slapped my doubts away and reassured me that I had the good looks and big muscles to command her attention. Similarly, when I considered preparing an ice breaker, I thought, _Fuck it_. I’d wing it.

Videl flew overhead; a feat which pleasantly surprised me. “Come on, guys!” She yelled. “This isn’t funny anymore! Bulma called us for lunch ten minutes ago!”

Goten whizzed past her. “Gotta catch us first!”

Trunks swooped from the opposite direction. “She can’t! Girls suck at flying!”

Videl spotted me and floated down. As her long white top billowed, I was treated to a flash of toned midriff and black bra cups. “Are those two always so _energetic_?” She asked.

“No,” I said. “Something’s obviously having an _effect_ on them.”

Her bashful giggle suggested that she caught my drift.

I poised to take flight. “Let’s see if I can rein the little bastards in.”

“Good luck,” she said, graciously overlooking my colourful language. “They’ve been running circles around me.”

I jumped and air rushed beneath me. It took one second to retrieve the boys. I spent the first half, seizing Trunks from the treetops, and the other, snatching Goten as he levitated above the waterfall.

Reappearing before Videl, I dropped the defiant little shits at her feet.

“Wow!” She gasped. “That was awesome!”

I tried not to smirk too much as she marvelled. “Vegeta, you were so fast, I didn’t even see what happened.”

Trunks jumped up. “That’s ‘cause my dad’s the strongest, fastest, bestest fighter in the world! Probably the universe!”

Goten grabbed him from behind. “No way! My dad is!”

Trunks ducked and threw Goten over his shoulder. “Nuh-Uh! I’ll prove it!” He leapt up and bear hugged my neck. “See?” He snarled, tightening his grip. “No one can knock my dad down.”

Goten scrambled around my ankles and began kicking the side of my boot. “We’ll…ugh!...See…ugh!...About that!”

In one way, their desperation to impress Videl was sweet. A cute little reminder that they were growing up fast. But I quickly lost patience, grabbed them by the backs of their collars and launched them to the other side of the garden.

“WHOOOOOOOAAAAAAA!!!!”

Completely undeterred, they flew back like a pair of boomerangs and crash landed just in front of me and the girl - wrestling and laughing and generally acting like pains in the ass.

Videl laughed. “Can’t we just agree you’re all tough guys and leave it at that?”

She stared in amusement, expecting their rough and tumble to fizzle out but when it became apparent that they had no intention of stopping, she stepped back. “Fine,” she said. “Go ahead and knock yourselves out. I have to visit the little girl’s room.”

She slinked away while I stood over _Piddles_ and _Tiddles_. For a moment, I considered kicking them like a pair of soccer balls. Afterall, they had reached a level of hyperactivity that rendered them impervious to words and only a stiff boot to the rib cage stood any chance of getting through.

“…Alright,” I snapped. “Simmer down.”

But before I could get another word out >>>>>>>>>>! a force from nowhere gripped my waist and knocked me over as if I’d stepped out onto a six-lane superhighway.

My world tipped backward and I landed on the grass with a dull thud.

Flat on my back, the sun was eclipsed by the perfumed figure looming over me. Hands were planted either side of my biceps. Thighs nestled against my side and my vision was filled with pig tails and tits and big eyes sparkling with glee.

“Gotcha!”

The boys froze.

Videl looked over her shoulder. “Hey, Trunks! What were you saying earlier about girls being no good at flying? Well, I might not be as fast as you in the air but my sneak attacks are second to none. Just ask _the best fighter in the universe_.”

I was shocked. Speechless. My head couldn’t get around the fact that I’d been floored by a one-hundred-and-something pound school girl. I mean, I’d been completely off guard and distracted but, still…

The victorious smile dropped from her face. “Are you ok? Did I hurt you? Sorry if I did, I didn’t mean to!”

It was absurd that she should feel such concern over a powerhouse of a warrior like me, nevertheless, I was unable to respond. All of my attention was taken up by having her body so close to mine.

And her scent…~...essence of cheerleader; candied, floral…~...chewing gum…not the minty kind, the fruity stuff.

Her eyebrow was in the process of raising in confusion but didn’t fully arch in time before Trunks and Goten yelled in unison.

“DOG PILE!!!!!!”

Videl was suddenly reduced to a human trampoline. And as the two boys pounced on her back, she lost her grip and slid forward.

Tits flattened against my abdomen. 

Her hand landed on the ground between my legs.

!…Pressure set in on my dick...! Friction and fabric playing havoc, as her inner forearm pressed against my groin.

Goten’s knee made contact with my chest. Trunks kicked my shoulder. Normally, I would have bashed their heads together as punishment for such carelessness but I was entirely far too preoccupied. The girl laughed heartily, seemingly unaware of how intimately she touched me. With every contraction of her lungs, her tits shuddered against my stomach and each time she pushed herself up, the boys’ boisterous scuffling caused her to slip back down again. 

Throughout the ruckus, I lay still. Staring at the clouds slowly drifting across the sky while my dick was brushed and rubbed, over and over. Rousing and achy, lust fizzed at the base of my rapidly growing hard-on. 

And as all squealing, bickering and laughter faded away, fantasy consumed me.

_Videl tearing open my fly and thrusting a hand inside. Jerking me off, her leather glove chafing and tantalising like crazy. That beautiful face blurring as I pulled her into a kiss so deep, my tongue skimmed her tonsils. My fist tightening in her hair, pushing on the back of her neck until her mouth met my cock and strained around the girth. Soft groans echoing around dreamland’s unseen walls, her throat clenching around my hard, swollen tip. That figure swamping t-shirt cast aside, my palms smothering her tits, chest pushing into my face as each nipple offered itself up stiff._

Trunks and Goten showed no sign of letting up. Facing each other, they straddled Videl’s back, swatting and smacking each other's hands like hysterical bitchy girls.

Videl’s weight shifted forward, her thighs flexed, her back arched and, a moment later, her ass was sticking up in the air, presenting at the perfect angle to get fucked like an animal.

Fresh surges of lust shot through my dick. There was no way in hell that she couldn’t feel my solid, blood engorged length running along the inside track of her arm. But if she did, she didn’t let on. 

In any case, I cast all aspersions aside and zeroed in on her ass. 

Gracefully rounded like an apple, it beckoned to me, crying out to be appraised by a firm grope. 

My inner lech argued that if the girl was happy to keep quiet about feeling me up, it was reasonable to expect her to return the favour. And that was it. I was sold. Without a single morsel of shame, I reached for her hindquarters and grabbed a handful of warm, yielding flesh - mostly thigh with a portion of ass cheek. Brazen as hell, my index finger nestled in the crease between her pussy and leg and I almost growled with delight at the feel of her.

Silky, pliable and moreish. I couldn't get enough.

But I knew time was against me and was all set for her to call me out. I even had a script rehearsed, ready to blame Trunks and Goten.

Seconds passed. My fingertips sank further into their target. And still, no shriek of horror, no jolt of shock. She acted like she was numb from the waist down – perhaps she thought her behind was being manhandled by one of the boys. Or she knew damn well it was me, just as she knew damn well that I was hard for her, and had chosen to keep quiet and enjoy the thrill of it all. Either way suited me and my unsavoury thoughts returned with a vengeance.

_With a flex of my hand, her black shorts tore like burnt paper. A silken feast of virgin pussy and ass lay before me._

Flushed and exhausted, Videl’s face looked as I imagined it would during orgasm. “Oh my God!” She panted. “You guys are so crazy!”

_Tight on my dick, she screamed while I held her down and fucked her bloody. Thrusting mercilessly until she was a sweating, shivering, whored out heap with dark red liquid ribbons flowing from both holes._

My filthy little mind might have treated me to sloppy seconds if only mine and the kids’ impromptu game of Twister hadn’t been interrupted by the sound of smashing glass.

….*!*….

All four of us looked over to see Bulma with her empty hand outstretched and curled. White wine pooling around her shoes, the glass she’d held moments earlier, lay in jagged shards.

I released my grip on Videl’s posterior and she tugged Goten’s ankle firmly. “Seriously boys, the ride’s over,” she said. “I need to go help Bulma.”

* * *

Throughout lunch, Bulma played passive aggressive bullshit headgames. Smiling, nodding and giving every impression that she was enjoying herself. The only evidence to the contrary was the untouched food on her plate and the occasional slitting of her eyes when looking at Videl.

Although, she wasn’t the only one to be afflicted by jealousy’s green-eyed monster.

With it being such a warm day, we dined out on the balcony. And since Goten was so small, Videl sat him on her lap, allowing him to see over the table. As she cooed in his ear about what a good boy he was for eating all of his vegetables and for using impeccable manners, Trunks glowered covetously.

It wasn’t just because Videl was a sweet and beautiful girl. Seeing her and Goten together served as a reminder of all the attention that Gohan used to lavish on him. Bulma’s smothering, enjoyable though it was, just wasn’t the same as being made to feel special by a ‘cool’ big kid.

From the day Gohan left Capsule Corp, Trunks pined for him. And when he asked after his beloved babysitter come tutor, Bulma fobbed him off. “Gohan’s gone home to see his mommy and daddy,” she said.

A few days later, Trunks paused halfway through tying his shoes. “How come Gohan isn’t staying with us anymore?”

I took the liberty of answering before Bulma could peddle any candy-coated half-truths. “Because his sorry ass is at home serving the world’s longest time-out.” I checked my watch and threatened that Trunks, too, could expect a likewise outcome if he continued to dawdle and make himself late for his dentist appointment.

The woman hissed in my ear, admonishing my use of _inappropriate language_ before kneeling in front of the boy and gently rubbing his arm. “Gohan won’t be coming back to stay with us,” she said. “Ever.”

Trunks’ eyes widened. “Will I get to see him again?”

“…Um…Sure. Next time you visit Goten’s house.”

His arms hung limply at his sides while she zipped up his hoodie. “Is Gohan in trouble for spending too much time here?”

Bulma paused. “What makes you say that, Sweetie?”

“Goten told me that his mom got angry a lot because Gohan was never around to help out with chores and stuff.”

Suddenly, she seemed rather alarmed. “Oh?” She said. “Do you and Goten talk a lot about Gohan?”

Trunks shrugged. “…Umm…Not really. Just sometimes.”

“…Well,” she said, deflating with relief. “Now that he’s at home, he can concentrate on his family and everything will go back to normal.” The reassurance, of course, being as much for herself as it was for Trunks.

She stood, and while handing him his backpack, his expression turned solemn and quizzical. “You think he’ll get his girlfriend back?”

Bulma’s eyelashes fluttered in bewilderment. “Girlfriend?”

Trunks giggled and blushed slightly. “Yeah, the one you and Goten’s mom were always talking about over the phone. A while ago, she showed up at Goten’s house, looking for Gohan. But he told her that he didn’t want to be her boyfriend anymore. That made her sad so she left and didn’t come back.” Bulma glanced away as Trunks continued. “Goten said she’s real pretty. He even offered to be her boyfriend instead but she only wanted Gohan.”

For the first time, Bulma was forced to consider that other people, aside from me, had been hurt as a direct consequence of her actions. Chi Chi: drowning in anguish over her adolescent son's transformation from bookworm to rebellious stop-out. Little Goten: confused and frightened by his mother's perpetual stress and anger. Videl: heartbroken.

At long last, my wife's conscience came out of hibernation and began eating her up, haunting her at night and driving her to tears at the untimeliest of moments (when helping Trunks with homework, during dinner, over tea and cakes with her mother). The TV dramas that she used to binge on, made her queasy. Full of illicit romance, the plotlines too closely mirrored her own actions. It was the same with her gossip magazines. Where she once spent hours poring through glossy pages filled with sensationalised affairs and casual sex, the garishly coloured publications were left to stack up, untouched, on the kitchen island.

Fascinating then, that on the day of Videl’s visit, so much guilt could turn to jealousy. I guess, when Videl was nothing more than a background character, it was easy for Bulma to feel bad for her. But when faced with the corporeal reality of the girl – all that youthfulness and beauty – the woman felt…threatened. I didn’t care about Bulma’s ensuing resentment. Women are notoriously, and uncontrollably, bitchy to each other even at the best of times. My concern was that Trunks might connect the triangle of disharmony between his mother, Videl and I to Gohan’s absence. Bulma and I had worked hard to keep up the appearance of domestic harmony. We never argued in front of Trunks and, for that matter, swore off doing anything to compromise his sense of security.

However, there were warning signs to suggest we had failed in our endeavour.

After lunch, Trunks started playing rough with Goten. In fact, he acted like a straight up bully. Pushing and shoving the smaller boy around with unwarranted aggression. Making fun of him for not living in a house as big as ours. Calling him over to look at a frog in the stream, only to land a cheap, vicious blow to the back of his head. Videl dove straight in and broke up the resulting brawl but even she, with her laid-back fun and funky summer camp counsellor style of behaviour management, grew weary of the boys’ shenanigans.

It didn’t help that, minutes beforehand, she had been insulted - everyone had finished eating so Bulma began stacking up empty plates and bowls. Videl plonked Goten on the floor. “Let me give you a hand,” she said. But Bulma waved dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous! You’re a guest. Besides, I have a system and by the time I got done explaining it, I could have cleared all of this on my own.”

Being unfamiliar with my wife's _quirky_ personality, Videl didn’t realise that she had refused the offer of help in order to play the martyr. And after suffering through many of Bulma’s resentful sighs and much exaggerated brow wiping, the girl offered again. “It’s fine, Hun! Seriously!” Bulma snapped. “Why don’t you go play with the boys some more?…Or _entertain_ my husband?”

With the atmosphere sufficiently soured, we all sort of scattered.

Shortly after the frog incident, Trunks and Goten looked to be winding each other up anew. But instead of stepping in, Videl glanced me, leaning against the side of the house, and headed over. She appeared reflective and inquisitive and I wondered if she might confront me about our touchy feely antics from earlier on.

She tilted backward and pressed her shoulder blades against the wall next to me. “Hi,” she said.

“Need me to step in?” I asked.

She sighed. “It’ll probably end in tears but I think they need to work it out themselves.”

“Guess you’ll think twice before letting Ka… _Goku_ talk you into babysitting again.”

“Actually,” she said. “I offered.”

“I’m surprised you were visiting his house in the first place,” I said. “I thought Gohan was on lockdown for… _various reasons_. Doesn’t sound like much of a punishment if he’s allowed friends over.”

“Chi Chi invited me.”

Videl explained that after not seeing Gohan in ages, she called to check on him. “That was a few weeks ago,” she said. “Chi Chi answered the phone. At first, she wasn’t too happy to hear from me. She thought I had something to do with Gohan acting up. When I heard that, I was desperate to fight my corner and tell her how wrong she was...but she sounded beyond stressed. So, I just let her vent until she calmed down. In the end, I felt sorry for her. She lives out in the middle of nowhere and doesn’t have anyone to talk to.”

She narrowed the gap between us as if she was about to tell me a secret. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “Goku’s a sweet guy but I don’t think he listens to her properly. That’s men all over though, isn’t it?” She glanced up at me. “No offence.”

“None taken,” I said (while side eyeing her tits and imaging how it would feel to have the firm mounds close in on my dick as it lay between them.)

Absentmindedly, she began twisting and tugging on a pig tail. “Once I was able to get a word in edgewise, I offered to take Chi Chi out for coffee but she refused. She was so ground down from dealing with Gohan that she didn’t feel like facing the world. So, I suggested that I come to her instead and told her we could just talk or go for a drive. I even offered to lend a hand with the housework.”

I smirked. “Sounds like a backdoor way of seeing your boyfriend to me.”

She shook her head. “Seriously, it wasn’t about Gohan. I was genuinely worried about his mom. She was heading for a nervous breakdown.” 

To cut a long story short, Chi Chi took Videl up on her offer to visit and she’d been going back ever since. Babysitting Goten was one of many chores that had been dumped on her. 

To me, it sounded like Kakarot's overbearing wife was exploiting the girl's kind hearted nature but she, of course, didn't see it like that.

“I like helping out,” she said. “They’re a nice family.”

“Gohan must be thrilled that you’ve become a regular visitor.”

She blushed and looked away. “Maybe, but I’m careful about letting myself get too attached. The last time I thought he really liked me, he told me to back off.” She finally regained the courage to meet my gaze and asked whether he’d ever spoken about her while staying with us during his time as ‘Trunks’ tutor’.

“Ask Bulma,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice.

“Are you kidding?” Said the girl. “She hates me.”

Her bluntness threw me and responding was made all the trickier by the fact that she wasn’t wrong.

“Trust me,” I said, while seething over thoughts of Gohan. “She has no grounds to.”

Thankfully, Videl failed to detect the smothered rage in my voice and mused about experiencing a similar ordeal with Chi Chi. “When Gohan first introduced us, she accused me of being some sort of hussy! She was convinced that my sole aim was to lead her _precious_ son astray.”

She laughed. “Bulma obviously thinks I’m trying to do the same to you.”

With the volume suddenly turned up on our flirting, my cock twitched and my ego flared. “…Is she wrong?”

Her laughter trailed off and died in a wilderness of awkward silence. And yet, something in those violet eyes – a glimmer of intrigue – let on that my insinuation wasn’t entirely off the mark. The situation was either about to nosedive or become infinitely more interesting; but before the balance could tip, we were interrupted.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! WAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

Goten ran straight at us.

From head to toe, he was covered in leaves, thorns and petals. Videl fell to her knees and cupped his reddened face. “What happened!?!” She asked.

“Trunks pushed me into his grammy’s rose garden.” He snivelled. “It’s full of prickers and it really huuuuuuurts.”

The lavender haired delinquent in question, came traipsing towards us, hands in his pockets, looking guilty as sin. “Whatever he says, he’s lying.”

I stepped forward. “Well then, how the hell did he end up looking like a pin cushion?”

Despite my insistence that Trunks look me in the eye when we spoke, he failed to do so and I was more angry at him for trying to weasel out of what he’d done rather than the wrongdoing itself. 

“I dunno,” he said. “Anyway, whatever, it ain’t that bad.” My son proceeded to swipe at Goten’s back. “Look, it comes right off.”

Unbelievably, his attempts to brush off the debris quickly escalated into hitting. Full of shame over my son’s behaviour, I was about to drag him away when Videl lifted Goten up into her arms. “Come on,” she soothed, while blanking Trunks. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

* * *

Within five minutes of sitting on Videl's lap and being lovingly dabbed all over with calamine lotion, Goten went straight back to his bubbly, carefree self. “I have to admit,” said the girl. “When your mom insisted that I bring that big first aid kit, I thought it was a little excessive but I guess moms know best, right?”

By that point, Bulma had rejoined us and I’d brought her up to speed with what our son had done. His abhorrent behaviour, along with Goten’s resulting injuries, had the sobering effect of ridding her of all malice.

Bulma placed her hand against her forehead. “I don’t know what to say, Videl. You must think we’re terrible parents and that we've raised a rotten little bully. Chi Chi will probably wanna sue after she sees the state Goten’s in.”

Videl smiled gently. “He’ll be fine,” she said. “To be honest, I don’t think it’s even worth mentioning to Chi Chi.”

Bulma returned her gaze with feeble elation. “Really?”

Videl shrugged. “It seems silly that all the grown-ups should risk falling out when you can bet that Trunks and Goten will make up in, like, ten minutes and go straight back to being best friends.”

I couldn’t get enough of Videl’s sensibility. She was like some wonderful antidote to the chaos and dysfunction that had become the norm at Capsule Corp – a teenaged, pig-tailed, firm assed version of Alice at the mad hatter’s tea party.

And just as the residents of Wonderland sought to trap the pretty young girl in their world, a certain blue eyed half-breed had a similar idea in mind.

After completing a time-out, Trunks came trundling over to join us at the table on the balcony. If he’d still had a tail, it would have hung between his legs, curled up and under like that of a beaten dog.

We greeted him coolly, yet forgivingly. Although, I didn’t like the insidious flash that crossed his eyes when he saw that Goten was, again, sitting on Videl’s lap.

She, like most child-free people, had no idea that such petty details mattered so sorely to kids. Give one child ten seconds less attention than another, or half an inch less chocolate, and it was a recipe for all hell to break loose.

Unaware of the tension building, Videl teased and stroked Goten’s hair and playfully commented on how unkempt he looked. “What would your mother think if I took you home looking like a little scarecrow?” She rummaged around in her bag which was sitting on the table and pulled out a brush. “Hold still,” she said. As she groomed Goten’s coarse black spikes, his eyelids drooped blissfully. And I'm sure that if he’d been a few years older, his dick would have shot up like a pinball flipper.

By the time she finished, he looked as if he was about to drop off to sleep. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned deeply. 

A look of mild concern appeared on Videl’s face. “Are you tired, Cutie Pie?”

“Uh-huh.”

She kissed his temple, tickling and clenching either side of his waist. “In that case, I’ll just have to carry you home.” He giggled and threw his arms around her neck like a baby chimp. “Then," she said. "You can finish taking a nap in bed while I help your mom make dinner. And, when you wake up, it’ll be time to eat again. Sound good?”

Goten’s grin spread and only the sight of my mother-in-law’s fat Persian cat, stretched out in the sunshine with its belly full of cream, could rival him in contentedness. 

Trunks tugged Videl’s arm. “Are you good at math and stuff?”

“Well," she said. "I’m no genius but I tend to get mostly A grades. Why?”

“Will you come live with us and be my new tutor?”

The audacity of his request caused Bulma, Videl and I to break out in a chorus of laughter. Goten, however, failed to see the funny side. “No!” He yelled. “She’s MY babysitter! Get your own!”

And just like that, the gloves came off.

Trunks’ eyes narrowed. His fists balled. “I DON’T NEED A BABYSITTER! I’M NOT A BABY! UNLIKE YOU! STUPID BABY! LOOK AT YOU! GETTING YOUR HAIR BRUSHED LIKE A GIRL!!!!”

Videl’s hand shielded and guided Goten’s face to the nook of her neck. “On that note,” she said. “I think it’s time we made tracks.”

She stood, tucking her forearm under Goten’s ass as he straddled her hip. Meanwhile, Bulma launched into a tirade of apologies over our son’s appalling outburst only for the girl to reassure her that all was well. She loved our home, the garden, our menagerie of pets. “I’ve had an awesome day,” she said. “It’s been a lot of fun.” She enjoyed meeting our family and hoped to see us again soon.

Trunks suddenly looked panicked. “You don’t have to go!” He whined. “Get Goten’s dad to pick him up so you can stay! Sleep over if you want! We’ll stay up late and do loads of cool stuff!”

She smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll leave my phone number with your parents and the next time they need a sitter, they can call me.” She stroked his head. “We’ll have that party…” She winked at me (and Bulma) “And mom and dad can go on a hot date and enjoy some alone time.”

He blushed. “Uuuuh?….Ok.”

Bulma and Videl indulged in some last-minute small talk about the picnic Tupperware (something about leaving it with us and collecting it next time) and it looked as if we were about to wrap everything up nicely. 

Too bad Kakarot’s little brat couldn’t leave well enough alone. 

He glanced around shiftily to make sure all grown ups were distracted, then, he snuggled under Videl’s chin and stuck his tongue out at Trunks.

My son immediately saw red and...!...thumped him in the leg. And because the limb in question dangled in front of Videl’s body, she too suffered the impact as an unintended consequence. “Hey!” She cried. “That hurt!”

I paced forward just as Trunks was following up with a verbal assault. “Think you can do whatever you want just ‘cause Videl’s carrying you? You act like a girl AND hide behind a girl! Wanna know what that makes you!?!”

Goten leaned over Videl’s arm. “What?”

I was inches away.

Trunks’ mouth opened wide.

“YOU’RE A PUSSY!!!”

The women gasped.

My hand came down…!...and struck the side of his head. “KNOCK IT OFF!”

He cowered, using both hands to cover the sore spot. “Owwwwwwww!”

* * *

Bulma bid a warm, yet awkward, farewell to Videl and Goten. I took Trunks to his room. 

When the woman and I crossed paths on the stairs, she immediately accused me of teaching our son the ‘P word’. But after a brief investigation, he admitted to picking it up off a late-night TV show that he had watched while staying up with her. I didn’t expect, or receive, an apology for the false accusation but I was happy enough to settle with the look of bitter shame on her face each time our eyes met afterwards.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the atmosphere was oily and tetchy and the three of us didn’t come together until early evening. Much to mine and Bulma's relief, Trunks made a heartfelt apology and promised, in future, to mind his manners and temper.

And in the spirit of reconciliation, I helped Bulma load the dishwasher with all of Chi Chi’s picnic gear.

Actually, I took over because she didn’t have the knack of stacking the contents efficiently and it bugged the hell out of me to see it done wrong.

While she stood next to me, scraping leftovers in the trash and pre-rinsing each item before passing it across, Trunks looked up from the picture that he was drawing at the kitchen island.

“Mom? Dad? Did you know Videl stops bad guys from doing crime and stuff in Satan City?”

“Yes, Hun,” said Bulma. “We know allll about it already.”

I sniggered. “Isn't it adorable? Someone’s got his first taste of puppy love.”

“Hmpf!” Bulma turned her nose up and spoke in a hushed, seething tone. “He’s not the only one hot for Little Miss Pig Tails, is he?”

I knew it wouldn’t be long before she came at me with some such jealous hypocrisy. _Fine_ , I thought. I had a thousand and one barbed comebacks ready to go but Trunks started whining before I could fire any off. “Mom?”

“What is it now, Sweetie?”

He tilted his head as he deliberated over the best way to pitch his idea. “I really think Videl should be my new tutor. I don’t wanna go back to school but I don’t wanna get dumb either.”

“She can’t, Hun, she’s too busy.”

“But you haven’t even asked her!”

“And I’m not going to. So, just drop it, ok?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think about Videl coming to live with us?”

Suddenly, my mind was overrun with images of what life would be like if the girl joined our household. The nude silhouette of her behind obscured glass while taking a shower. Walking around wearing nothing but a smile and a towel. Sunbathing topless by the pool.

“Let’s see…” I said. “Do I want an attractive seventeen-year-old female house guest? Hmmm…”

With a loud crash, Bulma threw a plate in the sink. “SHE’S NOT LIVING WITH US AND THAT’S FINAL!”

Trunks slammed his felt tip pen down. “IT ISN’T FAIR! GOTEN GETS TO HAVE HER, WHY CAN’T I?”

Bulma raked a hand through her hair. “If I hear about Videl-Goddamn-Satan one more time, you’re going straight into time out!”

Trunks snorted, jumped down from his stool and stomped away. “This is STUPID!!!!!”

The woman turned her loathsome glare on me. “Wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you!”

“Well, what do you expect?” I said. “The kid’s been spoiled so much, he’s forgotten the meaning of the word _no_.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “You're accusing me of being a bad mom?!? Huh? Mr-Hardly-Spends-Any-Time-With-His-Son! Well, I wasn’t going to say anything but since we’re getting all _judgy_ , why don’t we talk about the way your hand was so far between Videl’s legs, she was wearing it like a fucking jockstrap!”

“Do you really want to get into a discussion about which of us is more guilty of inappropriately touching teenagers?”

She sighed angrily. “God forbid I’m allowed to forget what I did for two minutes.” She sauntered over to the island and picked up Trunks’ picture.

As one would expect of a six-year-old, the portrait was rudimentary; but it was clearly a take on Videl. Thick black lines had been scribbled in all directions to form pig tails either side of a round face that tapered to a cat like chin. Trunks had paid particular attention to the eyes, drawing vast imperfect circles with smaller, purple, circles inside. Long, bendy arms culminated in fingerless trowels and, to my extreme amusement, he had made sure to leave enough room at the bottom of the page for two more circles in honour of those glorious tits.

I looked over Bulma’s shoulder. “I’d say that’s one for the fridge door.”

She tossed aside the fruits of our son’s labour. “You know what? If you like her so much, go ahead and take a shot!” She stalked over to the refrigerator, pulled out her beloved wine and poured it into a glass large enough to house a goldfish or three.

“Thanks for the suggestion,” I said. “But I don’t need anymore of Gohan’s leftovers.”

She erupted in sarcastic laughter. “Didn’t seem like a problem when she was all over you earlier! Admit it! If that girl offered to drop her cute little booty shorts, you’d jump on her quicker than Yajirobe on free donuts.”

I cocked an eyebrow. "What are you saying? You’re giving me a _free pass_?”

She tipped her head back and gulped enough Chardonnay to knock her pupils off kilter. “Sure! Why not?”

“…Because," I said. "You can’t even stand for me to be in the same room as the TV if an attractive woman is on, so how the hell is a real-life side chick supposed to work?”

Her mouth twitched into a smirk and she glared from under eyelids heavy from the effect of alcohol. “Wanna know why I’m not even remotely threatened?" She held still to allow for an unnecessarily long and dramatic pause. "Because. It. Would. Go. Nowhere.” She paced a few steps and took another gulp. “Take it from me, being in your thirties and fucking a teenager is fun for all of five minutes. Then it’s like super weird babysitting. You can’t even go on a proper date because they’re too young to drink!”

“So, why suggest it?”

“Duh! It would make us even!” She necked the last of her wine and took a final hate filled glance at Trunks’ drawing before abandoning the empty glass next to it.

“If giving you a free pass means we can draw a line under Gohan, then fine. Fuck Videl or whoever else you like.”

With a flick of her hair, she marched away in much the same fashion as our son. 

Despite the salacious nature of our conversation, I chose not to dwell on it. Afterall, when emotions run high and wine glasses run empty, heated words were almost inevitable.

Using a couple of magnets (one shaped like a bell pepper and another like a pizza slice), I stuck the picture of Videl to the refrigerator. The sight of it, taking pride of place on the door, would probably piss Bulma off when she came face to face with it in the morning but at least, for that day, I’d seen the last of any drama.

Or so I thought. 

I pressed the start button on the dishwasher and mulled over how to spend the rest of the evening. Night fishing sprang to mind. Silence. Fresh air. A thermos full of strong coffee. Maybe some dirty magazines. I was really starting to get into the idea of it, only for the sound of Bulma’s hurried footsteps to herald the start of round two.

She appeared under the archway and I was about to instruct her to direct all further comments to the nearest brick wall when I noticed a distinct lack of anger. Her eyes were wide and shining, her mouth was upturned in a quivering pout and her hands clasped as if in desperate prayer. “…Please don’t go after anyone else.”

Her voice was nothing more than a wounded whimper and I was completely thrown by the change of register.

She walked towards me, pride in tatters, with all the tentativeness of a child about to receive corporal punishment.

“After what I did with Gohan,” she said. “You probably have every right to.”

Feeling mildly confused and manipulated, I crossed my arms and leaned back against the countertop. And while I wondered where she was going with her self-abasement, she invaded my personal space and traced my jawline with an index finger.

“You’re so handsome…” She said, her touch trailing down to my chest. “And, Honey, with that body, you could have any woman you wanted.” She pulled in a deep breath. “But...it would devastate me.”

Her pupils grew fat in their blue skins and I allowed her to coax my arms apart. I wasn’t about to get into anything too affectionate but insolent desire encouraged me to keep still and soak up the seduction.

Manicured hands splayed over my collar bone, her abdomen pressed against mine and it was then that I really noticed how tight her dress hugged her curves and how generously it displayed her cleavage.

“I’m in no position to criticise you for… _getting better acquainted_ with Videl,” she said. “But, I’ll admit, I was jealous.” The top of her tits swelled as she crushed them to my chest. Then, suddenly, her eyes rounded and she spoke with petulant urgency. “Not because of how she looks! Or because she’s younger! I mean, anyone can see I’m prettier…and there’s only a few years between me and her.” She deflated a little. “I just couldn’t stand to see the two of you getting on so well.” She turned her head sideways and rested it against my heart. “I had to wait ages before you let me get that close.”

Things were starting to happen below my waist. “Wasn’t it your idea for me to go and _play_ with her?”

She looked up. “Well, now I’ve got another suggestion.” Her voice was breathy and thick with lust. “Let’s go back, Honey.” Her eyes glowed with hope and excitement. “Back to the way we were before we got married. Remember how good it was?”

How could I forget? Those were the days when we spent more time naked than dressed, when my dick spent more time in her than out. There was no kid, no labels, no strings attached and with the androids’ arrival on the horizon, we fucked like every day was our last.

She kissed my cheek and ran her fingertips through the hair behind my ear.

Our mouths didn’t quite touch but I could taste her lipstick. “God,” she sighed. “I miss all your dirty little tricks.”

Her hand dropped to my groin where the back of her knuckle ran along my rapidly hardening dick. “Feels like you miss me too.”

Her palm curved around the elongated bulge then strayed down to cup my balls.

“We could start all over again,” she said.

I parted my legs a little to give her better access. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Her fingertip travelled north, toward my belt buckle. “What if we just forget about the past; and the future for that matter? What if we take each day, each minute, as it comes and…” She unzipped my fly and pushed her hand inside. “…Concentrate on having a really, _really_ good time?”

Bulma’s forwardness had always endeared her to me. Sure, sometimes she came off a little coarse and, early on in our acquaintance, I even pretended not to like her directness. But, when it came to fucking, at least there had never been any guessing games or moving goalposts. 

Tiny metal zipper teeth threatened to lacerate my dick as it jutted out from my fly. Bulma’s hand was my only protection and judging by the way she licked her lips, she clearly enjoyed the precarious aspect of it all. Her fist wrapped around the middle third of my length and moved up and down in slow, firm strokes. Skin bunched just under the head of my cock then pulled tight as it glided toward my balls. 

“Is that good, Honey?”

Over and over, pleasure flooded my dick so intently that I reached back to grip the countertop; all the while fighting the urge to groan and shudder.

Her tiny burst of sexually amused laughter resonated against my bottom lip then, her teeth sank gently into it. My tongue pushed against her pearly incisors and as her bite let up, her tongue met mine. For a couple of seconds, they snaked together.

But some rogue streak of aversion forced me to turn my head away. 

Though horny as sin, I simply wasn’t ready to kiss her.

“Do I need to beg?” She whispered, peppering my jaw with kisses, nipping at the skin just behind the joint. “Please, Baby.” She murmured. “Drag me to bed…” Soft fingertips and acrylic nails danced over the tip of my dick while, lower down, the rest of it was treated to three deeply massaging strokes. “…and fuck me like beating Goku depends on it.”

I’ll hand it to her. The woman was an artist. Out of all my other lovers (and I’d fucked some seriously trick-loaded pros in my time), there had never been anything like her. All at once she teased and soothed and excited and enraged me. That blend of eroticism and baby talk? I should have hated it. But there I was, well on the way to cumming, lapping up every wine scented ‘Honey’ and ‘Baby’ she cared to purr.

Problem was, fucking meant forgiving…and, even in the heat of passion, that was too big of an ask. 

In order to be authentic and long lasting, forgiveness had to happen on my say so. A temporary pardon granted on the back of a hand job in the kitchen simply wouldn't hold up. The relief of cumming would be over in a shudder and then I’d go straight back to feeling sore over Gohan.

My dick hated, and I mean honest to God hated, me for resisting. Common sense, however, backed me all the way in my dogged determination to focus on the bigger picture.

Bulma gasped when I took hold of her wrist and guided her hand away.

“…I’ll think about it.”


	13. Fool Me Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta looks to Goku for advice on how to forgive.

Less than twelve hours after wrenching Bulma’s hand off my dick, I took my car and parked up in a leafy, secluded spot just outside West City. There, I waited for Kakarot. I let my energy flare a little so that he’d know where to find me and sure enough, before the engine turned cold, there was a tap at the window.

I was met with bright eyes and a beaming grin. Although, Kakarot’s delight had less to do with seeing me and more to do with the large paper bag sitting on the passenger seat.

The door opened. “Mornin’, Vegeta. Wow! Is this for me?” He made himself comfortable and got straight to rooting and rustling through the goodies. 

Treating him to breakfast had been part of our arrangement. The one made over the phone late the previous night when I called to ~~a̶s̶k̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶p̶ ̶a̶d̶v̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶g̶u̶i̶d̶a̶n̶c̶e̶.~~ When I called to organise a get together.

He held up a paper-wrapped lump and gasped. “Is this an everything bagel?” Before I could answer, his attention landed on the next item. “Ooooh! A blueberry muffin! And orange juice! And coffee!”

I threw a wad of paper napkins at him. “Don’t drop any in my damn car. I mean it. If I find one single crumb…”

He waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah…”

Elbow deep in the bag, he squeaked with glee. “Ohh! Hashbrowns!”

Normally, eating in my car was strictly forbidden. I didn’t even let my wife or kid chew gum in there. The only reason I made an exception for Kakarot was because I wanted to meet early and the promise of food had been the quickest, easiest way to get him to agree.

Alas, prior to speaking with him, I had been worn down by his battleaxe of a wife. She had never warmed to me and convincing her to put him on the line in the first place had been far from easy. She bitched about the late hour and insisted that no phone call could be important enough to risk waking Goten. I promised not to keep her husband talking a moment longer than necessary. And, after one final whine about how society had flushed basic good manners down the drain, she finally passed me over to Kakarot. 

“Meet up tomorrow morning?” He said. “Sure! But can we make it after breakfast? I can’t function on an empty stomach.”

I insisted that procrastination was unacceptable. However, Kakarot, being the insatiable glutton that he was, bellyached on and on about his need to eat. And so, with a great deal of reluctance, I assured him that if he hauled ass on my terms, our meeting would be fully catered. 

It was a done deal. And by seven a.m. the next day, my car smelled like a fast food restaurant.

“So,” said Kakarot with a mouthful. “What’s on your mind?”

I’d had a sleepless night. Afterall, when I told Bulma I’d think about reigniting the physical side of our relationship, I meant it. But despite trying for many hours to banish her unfaithfulness to the furthest recesses of my mind, the memories continued to wash over me like a dark, creeping tide.

“…Chi Chi has never strayed, has she?”

Kakarot paused solemnly. “Um?…No. No, she hasn’t.”

“In which case,” I said. “Your ability to understand my dilemma is bound to be _limited_.” The moment the words left my mouth, I had second thoughts about proceeding. I felt stupid, needy. But there was something consoling in the way he stared back - like, no matter what, he wouldn’t think bad of me. It reminded me of the deep, innocent way a cow looks at the person leading it to slaughter.

“Still,” I said. “You’re no stranger to being on the receiving end of duplicity. So many of those who you call friends, first came to you as enemies. They sought to con you, harm you, humiliate you, kill you, and yet, you’ve never harboured even an ounce of ill will against any of them.” With the press of a button, I lowered the driver seat window, pleased to inhale the pine scented breeze which drifted in. “So, tell me, Kakarot. How do you do it? How do you _bury the hatchet_?”

He blinked a few times. “…Haven’t you ever forgiven anyone before?”

I stared out at the trees. The lazy sway of branches had an almost hypnotising effect. “Anyone that ever screwed me over ended up dead.”

His chewing slowed and he frowned in disapproval. “That’s a hard _no_ if ever I heard one.” He swallowed. “Listen, Vegeta, I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to ask for my help but…”

“Just tell me the trick behind your soft-headed habit of letting snakes off the hook so we can get the hell out of here.”

“Hmm…” He tore open a sugar packet and poured it into his coffee. “…It’s not helpful to think of people as snakes; especially if we’re talking about Bulma.” He rolled the empty sachet between his fingertips. “That aside, I suppose the first step is asking yourself whether you’re ready to forgive her.”

I sighed. “All I know is, the last four months have been like some crazy, emotional carnival ride and I’m desperate to get off.”

He flicked the tiny paper ball. It missed the ashtray and, instead, ended up in the cup holder. Growling with irritation, I retrieved it and disposed of it out the window. When I looked back, he wore a sheepish grin and tittered with nervous laughter before clearing his throat and regaining an air of seriousness. “Forgiving isn’t about what you want,” he said. “It’s about empathy and giving others permission to mess up.”

“ _Messing up_ is throwing a red shirt in with the white laundry,” I said with a rising temper. “It’s forgetting to leave the trash by the kerb on collection day.”

While stirring his coffee, Kakarot took another bite out of his cream cheese stuffed monstrosity. “I’m not trying to downplay what Bulma did,” he said. “There was no one I trusted more with my son; and having that trust betrayed was a real kick in the bean bags.”

“That’s the part I don’t get,” I said. “She seduced your son, a kid that’s still in school, a kid who isn’t even old enough to vote, and she used him like her own personal sex toy.”

“…Uh-huh,” he droned, between sipping. “I have a pretty good idea of what went on.”

“Kakarot, you can’t even begin to imagine.” I felt the lid pop off my box of unbidden resentment and paid no attention to his polite hint for me to return from my tangent. “I mean, sure,” I said. “He wanted nothing more than to please her but she took advantage. She practically trained him to perform on command.”

“I really don’t need a rundown...”

I heard his objection loud and clear but I just couldn’t stop myself.

“Whatever Bulma wanted, Bulma got.”

He put his hand to his mouth as if to stop the contents falling out. “…I…I get it.”

“Bet little Gohan never dreamed that, one day, _Aunt Bulma_ would end up ordering him to rough-fuck her like a junkie street whore.” I sniggered, even though there was nothing funny about what I was saying. “And you wouldn’t believe how often the poor kid had to set his alarm clock for five a.m. just so he’d have time to go down on her for an hour straight and not end up late for school.”

“Vegeta!” Kakarot barked. “Enough already!”

“…The point is,” I said. “You let the theft of his innocence slide. Why? Because she said _sorry_?”

I knew I’d gone too far when he re-wrapped his half-eaten bagel and dropped it back inside the bag. “Not because she _said_ it,” he said, sucking his thumb and fingertips free of sesame seeds. “I forgave her because she _meant_ it.”

“What am I missing?” I asked. “She’s apologised to me too, over and over. Each time more heartfelt than the last; yet it counts for nothing.”

He arrived at the rather obvious conclusion that I wasn’t ready to take on board the woman’s remorse and that I needed to give myself more time. 

“Time is a luxury I don’t have,” I said. “Trunks is getting caught in the crossfire. He’s going off the rails.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Kakarot. “But, surely, there’s no better motive to move on than to protect your son?”

“Easier said than done. Unlike you, I’ve never bought into the idea of being a pushover.”

Kakarot paused. “What exactly is stopping you from forgiving Bulma?”

Visions of her cunt crammed full of Gohan’s cock. Cum leaking. Slow, sticky white globules running down her ass. The chemical memory of his jizz when, in my fit of madness, I tasted it from the back of my own hand.

A pang of nausea gambolled through my throat. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“…Mmm…Not really,” said Kakarot. “She’s apologised. She feels awful. She’s never gonna make the same mistake again. Why can’t that be the end of it?”

His apparent failure to grasp the self-evident caused my immediate transition to anger.

“Well,” I sneered. “Aside from her blatant betrayal, I guess I’m having difficulty with the idea that I’m just supposed to crawl back into bed with her after she was cream-pied, God knows how many times, by your horny mongrel of a son.”

He closed his eyes briefly, as if to shield himself from the insult. “…I’m sure she’s hopped in the shower a few times since then.”

“Don’t play cute with me, Kakarot. If I sucked her pussy hard enough, I’d still taste him.”

To my surprise, he shot me a critical look.

“I didn’t realise you were so squeamish,” he said. “…Or irrational.”

“Hmpf!” I crossed my arms and averted my gaze. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Gohan, for one. He obviously wasn’t bothered that Bulma had been doing the horizontal bop with you seven-plus years before he got a look-in.”

My face snapped towards him. “And isn’t that the very definition of third-class, half-breed trash.”

He held up his palm. “Let’s not get into a slanging match. At least, not before I’ve had a chance to get my blood sugar up.”

For a few moments, we remained silent in order to let the tension disperse.

“In any case,” he said. “It’s probably too soon to start worrying about _bedroom stuff_ with Bulma.”

I smirked. “Au contraire, Kakarot. She was all over me last night, begging to be fucked with a capital F.”

His eyes widened. “…Oh?...You wanna high-five or something?”

“Don’t be stupid.” I stared through the windshield. “I said I’d get back to her. I didn’t want to muddy the waters while I’m still hacked off over her fling.”

“Really?” He said. “Oh boy, that changes everything.”

I refocused on him. “…You’ve lost me.”

His mouth twitched. “It’s just…I didn’t realise that your make-up whoopee depended on what I had to say.” Suddenly, it was his turn to stare into the verdant depths of the forest. “Holy cow! This is a big responsibility! If I mess this up, you might not feel like getting lovey-dovey with Bulma ever again!” 

As he fixed me with an expression of helpless, dim-witted exasperation, I felt my eyes smoulder. My voice was low and menacing. “If you’re suggesting that I’m incapable of fucking my wife without your input, then get out of the car and run. Or, so help me God, you’ll be taking that coffee as an enema.”

He tilted his head. “In that case, Vegeta, I'm stumped.”

At that point, I insisted our business concluded. But, rather than take offence at being dismissed so abruptly, Kakarot’s only concern was seeking permission to take the food with him. 

“Take it,” I snapped. “Just go!”

He stepped out of the car, cradling the bag, and leaned in to bid me a final farewell.

“Thanks again for breakfast,” he said. “And if you decide you wanna talk some more, feel free to call, though, not too late ‘cause Chi Chi really hates…”

Before he could blather on, I leaned over and slammed the passenger door shut. “Fucking waste of time!”

Ignition on, engine roaring, I reversed in a fast, aggressive arc. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed Kakarot, knee deep in the dust kicked up by my wheels. He was waving goodbye and smiling…although, on reflection, I’m quite sure it was more of a smirk. 

A wry, knowing little smirk.

* * *

Homeward bound, anger seeped from me like battery acid. I thought driving, as opposed to flying, might have helped take my mind off coming away from Kakarot without anything remotely useful.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

My foul mood was exacerbated by the apparency that every incompetent cunt with a licence had taken to the road and either held me up or rode on my ass. The use of indicator lights had seemingly gone out of fashion but last second lane changes and exits were all the rage.

Between blaring horns, obscene hand gestures and exchanging insults with other motorists, I cringed with regret at my decision to call upon Kakarot.

Not only had our rendezvous been fruitless, from it, he’d surely gleamed an impression of me as some sexually incompetent cretin.

I imagined that, as he flew home, he was having a good laugh at my expense.

_…Poor Vegeta. Can’t even bring himself to enjoy a little naughty time with the Mrs…even when it’s handed to him on a plate…Dang, that son of mine sure did a number on him…heh heh…_

And the more I thought about it, the more it mattered.

I cursed myself for not screwing the woman. 

I should have done it, if for no other reason than to throw it in Kakarot’s face.

* * *

I knew full well it would have been a severe error of judgement to think that Bulma and I could reaffirm our love with sex alone. Nevertheless, from the moment I set foot inside Capsule Corp, I was determined to reclaim her pussy. 

Heady recollections of our dalliance in the kitchen had given me a raging hard-on. As I ascended the stairs, I continued to flash back to the sultry, heavy eyed sight of her. The sound of her breathy, femme fatale repartee. The feel of her tits pressed against my chest. The goose pimple inducing pleasure of her hand travelling back and forth over my cock. The kisses, the nibbles, wine, perfume.

A trickle of adrenaline slithered along my spine and triggered a shudder.

Less than a minute later, I found her in Trunks’ bedroom. She was on the floor, picking up toys and tossing them into a storage container. I paused in the doorway and leant against the frame. “Leave it,” I said. “The kid can clear up after himself.”

“Huh?” She looked up. “Oh, I’m not tidying,” she said. “He’s outgrown a lot of this stuff so I’m donating it to charity.”

When she revealed that her parents had taken Trunks to the zoo, I put it to her that he wouldn’t react well to having his toy collection purged behind his back. To my surprise, she explained that it had, in fact, been his idea.

Evidently, that morning, our son had expressed an interest in appearing more _grown up_ and concluded that getting rid of any babyish junk was a sound way to go about it.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “He wants to impress Videl.” She sighed. “Still, I’ve been meaning to clear out his room for months and, at last, I have the perfect excuse.”

The subsequent explanation of her intention to be ruthless met with my approval. Although, I pointed out that he had so much stuff, it would take all day to sort through it.

“Need a hand?” I asked.

She looked at me like I was a flat-earther at a science conference. “Seriously? You wanna help?”

“Not especially.” I said. “But if it means getting rid of this crap, then it won’t be a complete waste of my time.”

She giggled and playfully tossed a plush toy which bounced off my shoulder. “I forgot you were such a neat freak.”

I joined her on the floor. She held up a plastic alien and asked whether I thought we should keep it. “Woman,” I said. “If it was up to me, I’d clear the place wholesale. This is supposed to be a bedroom, not an amusement park.”

“Oh, come on!” She crowed in amused exasperation. “He’s a little boy!”

I snorted. “Human mentality.”

“Well,” she said. “What did you do for fun when you were his age?”

“Ha!” I exclaimed bitterly. “The word _fun_ didn’t exist in my vocabulary. I was always doing, or learning, something constructive.”

She laughed and crawled toward me, wiggling the alien in front of my face. “You mean, wiping out planets full of cute little guys like this?”

…!... There. That was it. The green-light moment I’d been waiting for.

I was enraptured by her mischievous smile and the sunlight gleaming off her cascading hair. Her bra was doing a good job of pushing up the tops of her tits and my peripheral vision blurred to nothing as I focused on the view straight between them.

When she noticed the intensity in my gaze, her laughter trailed off. She was about to shy away when I caught her outstretched wrist. Gently, I pressed my thumb against the ligaments until her grip gave out and the toy fell from her hand.

There was tension, anticipation and the limp submission of her body as I gathered it towards mine. Long black lashes curled up at the ends of blue eyes full of intrigue.

She stroked the hair spiking up from the side of my widow’s peak. “Does this mean you’re done playing hard to get?”

With my grip around the back of her neck, I leaned forward, impressing my weight upon her, guiding her backward until she lay flat with her thighs either side of my waist.

I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes as the tips of our noses touched.

The prospect of our first post-Gohan fuck suddenly felt like a bigger deal than I had anticipated. And, I guess, I needed a couple of moments just to feel _connected_ to her while my thoughts ran their course. 

There was an unfamiliarity about her body, comparable to returning home after a burglary. The police and insurance people had come and gone. The crime scene had been cleaned up and any stolen or damaged items had been replaced like for like. But despite the appearance of all being well, I could still tell that someone had infiltrated the sanctity of what was mine. 

The unquantifiable disturbance lay in her aura and the minutiae of her body language. She wasn’t fully relaxed. We were out of sync - a couple of times she wrongly guessed that I was going to kiss her and deflated with disappointment when it didn’t happen.

As my thumb traced the outline of her cupid’s bow, I simultaneously basked in the desire of wanting to kiss her and questioned whether I could handle the intimacy of it. Sensing my scruples, she slid her hands into my hair and nuzzled her nose against mine Eskimo style. 

My ego screamed. _What are you? Queer? GET ON WITH IT!_

I lowered.

…x…

And for the first time in months, we kissed. 

Some hysterical, immature part of me wanted to obsess over all the oral sex that she had given Gohan. But I quickly knocked back my stupidity with the reassurance that, since then, she had consumed enough alcohol to sterilise an operating theatre. Sufficed to say, her mouth was cleansed of him.

I cupped a tit.

“Mmm,” and she groaned around my tongue.

Buttons popped apart, layers of fabric and bra cups shifted and dusky pink nipples jutted out as I opened her top.

My balls tightened and my dick throbbed to a slow, steady rhythm. I grinned at the strength of my own virility and playfully chastised myself for getting hung up over the issue of forgiveness. 

To think, I had wasted so much time talking utter shit with Kakarot when I could have been enjoying the gravity defying aesthetics of my wife’s tits. Still, I thought, better late than never. 

Owing to her surgical augmentation, they neither flattened nor fell off-centre. She was like a mannequin on its back.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

“Ahh!” She writhed as I tongued and groped each mound.

I was determined that lust would act as my sledgehammer. With it, I would smash apart my inhibitions and conquer the challenge of rebuilding intimacy one fuck at a time. Hell, even Kakarot had recognised the importance of a good, hard screw.

He…

He…

“Honey?” Bulma murmured. “Are you ok?”

I knelt upright. “…He played me.” 

Hard-on killing anger whooshed up from out of nowhere and all I could think of was his smirking face as I’d driven away. He’d known, damn well, the futility of trying to convince me to let bygones be bygones. Just as he’d known that the only way to jog me into making a move on Bulma was to stoke my pride and machismo.

While I replayed the moment Kakarot as good as defied me to fuck the woman, she tugged her bra back into place; her face drawn with a look of disgruntlement.

Nearby, her cell phone lay on the floor. I picked it up and handed it to her. “Get hold of Kakarot.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

I sighed. “Just do it.”

“What am I?” She muttered while swiping and tapping the screen. “Your personal assistant?” She held the phone against her ear.

“I’d call him myself,” I said. “Only, I’m not in the mood to be interrogated by his pain-in the-ass wife.”

Bulma’s eyes widened. “Oh! Hi, Chi Chi! Can I talk to Goku, please?” Her pupils darted from side to side. “Why? Uhh? Beeecause…I need toooo….check…what he and Goten would like for lunch when they come over on Saturday…yeah…that’s it.”

She held her breath and we waited. After a tense pause, she exhaled with relief and passed the phone to me, whereupon I was greeted by Kakarot. “Hello? Bulma? What’s all this about lunch?”

“…You devious son-of-a-bitch.”

“Uhh?…” Footsteps suggested that he was on the move; presumably to get out of earshot of his wife. “Just a sec,” he said. “Heh heh, I’ll get a better signal if I go over here.”

“Don’t even try to deny that you set out to manipulate me.”

“Ya busted me, huh? Well, I was only tryna help.” His voice was quiet and edgy. “I figured if you got some of the _good stuff_ , it would convince you to draw a line under the past.”

“Grrrr! Damn you and your overly simplistic take on my life!”

“Gee,” he said. “The simple way is the only way I know how to do anything. If you’re looking for sophisticated psychobabble, I’m fresh out. Guess you’re just gonna have to keep wallowing until you get bored of being chaste and grumpy.”

I tossed the phone back to Bulma. “Prick!” I sneered under my breath.

She stammered through a quick greeting to Kakarot, followed by reassurance that she’d take care of lunch at the weekend. I stood and she interrupted her conversation to ask where I was going.

“Where do you think?”

She resumed the call with weary chagrin. “What was that, Goku? Oh sure, Vegeta’ll be fine. He’s off to take his _frustration_ out on the gravity room.”

* * *

Did I feel short-changed over missing out on fucking Bulma for the second time?

Maddeningly.

And it took several hours in 300g to recalibrate my mind.

Afterwards, I slept. 

I had only intended to catnap for half an hour but when I awoke, it had gone ten p.m.

It was a pleasant surprise to find Bulma pottering around in the kitchen in one of her shorter, skimpier night time getups - satin, lace, white and marshmallow pink.

Because she had her back towards me while ferreting around in a wall cupboard, my voice took her by surprise. “Is Trunks asleep?”

She pulled out a cup and turned to face me. “…Oh? Hi. Yeah, he is.” 

“I suppose him being in his own bed is too much to hope for?”

She blew out an agitated sigh. Trunks’ sleeping arrangements had become an ongoing point of contention and I know she felt horribly judged by me. We were probably two sentences away from an argument so she quickly steered the conversation toward how interested in animals he had become as a result of his trip to the zoo.

Apparently, her parents had bought him a book on elementary school level zoology from the gift shop. Then, that evening, he had insisted that Bulma read it with him, cover to cover, only to fall asleep halfway through. 

“So, I came down to make tea,” she said. “Want some?”

I took her up on her offer. But no sooner had she reached for a second cup when, suddenly, my senses were triggered.

There wasn’t even time to read the energies before a blinding meteorite-type mass smashed down on the lawn. 

Bulma took to the window while I threw open the French doors. And, when the cause of the disturbance became apparent, she gasped so sharply it was a miracle that she didn’t choke on her tongue.

She clamped a shivering hand over her mouth. “…Oh my God!”

Outside, Kakarot’s arms locked around Gohan’s shoulders. Father tackled son to the ground and as the two of them wrestled, they thrashed like beached sharks and snorted like furious bulls.

Tears streamed down the teenager’s burning face; his voice was hoarse with emotion. “I JUST NEED TO TALK TO HER!!!”

Kakarot continued in his efforts to restrain him. “…I…can’t…let…you…DO THAT, GOHAN!”

Bulma backed away from the window, taking slow gasping breaths as she went. 

My reaction was the polar opposite.

I couldn’t help myself. Everything about their arrival excited the hell out of me. The unexpectedness of it, their flaring power; the prospect of taking revenge. And, if we were going to have an all-out, white-trash, set piece smack down on the lawn in front of the neighbours, I would also have the pleasure of showing the Sons just how much I enjoyed performing in front of an audience.

Kakarot tightened his bear hug around the kid’s chest and arms, then, when I arrived in front of them, they both froze.

Kakarot glanced up with a despair defying grin. “…Uh?...Hi there, Vegeta. Nice night, huh? Sorry to drop in on you like this. We were fooling around and kind’ve crash landed.”

Head down, almost kissing the dirt, Gohan refused to look at me. And I'll never know how I resisted the immense temptation to kick him upside the face, but as it was, I settled on a little teasing. “Awww, look at those tears," I said. "Has Daddy been playing too rough?”

From both Sons, I was met with gritted teeth and furrowed brows though no comeback.

I chuckled. “Would you boys like to come in for a cup of tea? Perhaps a nice calming chamomile blend?”

Kakarot put more weight on his son, a clear message for him to remain silent. “Thanks for the offer,” he said "But we don't wanna impose.”

Gohan grunted, straining every muscle in his arms and shoulders.

“It’s no trouble, really,” I said, with a disingenuous smile. “Take a minute to dust yourselves off. And while you do that, I’ll tell Bulma to make herself decent.” Just like that, I had the kid’s wild-eyed attention and I couldn’t remember the last time it felt so good to smirk. “She’s strutting around in there like something off the set of a lingerie photo shoot.”

Gohan stared at me with a most curious mix of intrigue and hate which spurred me on to goad him further. “Just between us,” I said. “I think she’s angling for a little… _marital congress._ ”

His resulting scowl was priceless - it was like I'd just accused his dear mother of sucking cocks in hell. 

I sensed he was about to speak and, for a moment, I braced myself for all manner of insults or declarations of love for Bulma.

"..Dad?" He muttered, submitting to his father's grip. "I want to go home." 

Kakarot didn't let up straight away. Erring on the side of caution, he took a moment to scan the request for ulterior motives. Then, once it checked out, he relaxed his hold.

I remained on standby while the kid jumped to his feet. Secretly, I wanted the satisfaction of seeing him lower himself to dishing out a barbed comment or dirty look. But when it came to it, he completely blanked me and took to the sky with an unnecessarily large burst of power. 

Kakarot stood, rubbing the back of his head as he stared after his son.

“So,” I said. “The cat’s out of the bag.”

He turned back to me with a gentle expression. “…The whole Bulma situation was really eating him up,” he said. “He confessed everything to me then tried to come and see her and…well…here we are.”

“Has he told anyone else?” I asked. “Chi Chi? The Namek?”

Kakarot shook his head. “No,” he said. “And he still doesn’t know that you know.”

I crossed my arms. “I suppose that’s of some consolation.”

“I’m positive that Gohan won’t do anything to compromise Bulma.” Kakarot shrugged and broke out in a weak grin. “He cares about her too much.”

We both knew that was a dire understatement. _Hopelessly in love_ would have been more apt but I thought better of correcting him.

“Hey,” said Kakarot. “Are we still on for Saturday?”

“You mean so Trunks and Goten can play?”

He nodded.

“Why should that change?” I asked.

That time, he broke out into a full dipshit grin. “Well…You were kinda mad at me earlier. Ya know, for trying to getcha all fired up into mashing parts with Bulma?”

I stepped forward. “Get over yourself, Kakarot. My time is far too precious to waste on holding petty grudges against clowns like you.”

The moonlight danced in his eyes and he smiled for a second longer than what I deemed comfortable.

"What!?!" I snapped. "What is it!?!"

"...Mmm?...Nothin',” he said with a strange amused inflection. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, ok?”

With a burst of light, and a rush of air, he took off.

* * *

Sobs and sniffles gave away Bulma’s hiding spot behind the sofa. 

Sitting on the floor with her back hunched, hugging her knees to her chest, she looked small and lost like a child abandoned on a railway platform.

As I studied her, I found myself afflicted by a strange emotion - it took a few seconds before realising it was guilt. 

While I’d been revelling in Gohan’s anguish (and Kakarot’s desperate attempts to smooth over the awkwardness of their spontaneous drop-in), Bulma had been genuinely petrified.

But, other than the fact of their departure, I had little to offer in the way of comfort. “You can come out now,” I said. “The kid took one look at me and high-tailed it home.”

She turned those big watery eyes on me and pawed at her tears. “What if he comes back?”

I grinned, fantasising over the many grisly ways I would inflict pain on the teenager’s tender young body. “Do you really have to ask?”

She tucked her legs to the side like a mermaid’s tail and crossed her arms as if she felt cold. “Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

Even if the question hadn’t been rhetorical, I wouldn’t have answered. My attention was entirely taken up by the spaghetti strap which had slipped down her shoulder. 

She drooped like a parched houseplant and a curtain of hair fell forward, concealing one side of her face. “He can’t possibly think I’d want to…”

While she deliberated over Gohan’s unannounced visit, her strap fell another inch.

…!...And a teasing crescent of areola peeked out from her top.

My heartrate picked up. Tiny prickles of pleasure attacked my dick.

A crash of sorts started going off in my head; a pile up of visions. Gohan’s face twisting in agonised passion. Kakarot in place of the metaphorical wild horses that people speak of when pursuing their heart's desire. 

And then, there was the woman. 

Never had I felt so territorial over those tits, that skin, those eyes, those legs and everything between them.

Like a man straight out of jail, I was utterly cunt-struck. 

And the urgent need to end several months of celibacy consumed me.

I dropped to my knees and reached for the nape of Bulma’s neck. Silky blue tresses spilled from my grip and her eyes were alight with flashes of surprise.

I pulled her close. “The boy missed you,” I said. “I don’t blame him. I know exactly how he feels.”

And with that, I went straight for her pout. Sweet tasting traces of lip gloss came off as I devoured her mouth. She let out a tiny groan of relief-laced bliss, then, within seconds, our soft, affectionate kiss ramped up in intensity. 

“…Mmh…Honey……”

There were desperate breaths. My tongue found hers and, together, they melded in a searing connection.

Once I had her securely in my embrace, my hand fell from her neck to her chest. 

I spoke against her mouth. “This is what the kid came for.” 

Whimpering, she clung to my forearms. 

My palm flattened her exposed nipple and my fingertips sank into the perimeter of the mound.

Her breath leapt out in tiny bursts. “Don’t…don’t talk about _him.”_ And a high-pitched gasp escaped when I yanked her top down. 

Flimsy white fabric sagged around the lower part of her ribcage. High set nipples spiked out at me; our kiss broke.

I straightened and fisted the back of my top to pull it off and toss it aside. “I’ll talk about whatever the hell I want," I said. "God knows, I kept quiet for long enough.”

Then, before she could protest, I was back on her. Or, more specifically, her tits. Groping handfuls, almost kneading like bread dough, pincering her nipples to stiff peaks. Leaning back, she thrust her chest out. “Ahh…” With her neck stretched and bared, I moved in like a vampire at feeding time, my tongue skimming over her jugular, nipping and sucking a trail to her earlobe.

I tongued her earring. “You should have seen the look on his face when I told him you were parading around the house half-naked.”

As I reached between the crush of our bodies, she grappled with my wrist. “You’re such a bastard,” she panted. It might have sounded like more of an insult if only arousal hadn’t diluted her anger. 

Despite her quasi-serious resistance, I delved effortlessly into her shorts.

She jolted. “Ah!”

My touch met with warm, damp folds and the dewy, silken hood of her clit. 

And, while I got reacquainted with long lost carnal delights, she snatched out, gripping my shoulders and sinking her nails in. “Oh God!” 

I ran my tongue along the edge of her ear. “Wanna hear the clincher?”

Her small, pink bundle of clitoral nerves rolled and yielded between my fingertips.

“Ahh!....No!...Don’t tell me!”

My middle and third finger lunged into her pussy. Wettish muscles clenched from all sides. “I told him that you were practically down on your knees, begging for cock.”

Every square inch of her skin prickled as a full body tremble attacked. “OHHHH!!!” 

I probed the depths of her hot, tight cunt, pressing up against her her g-spot as I went. 

“Fucking jerk!…" She hissed in contempt of the many kisses I laid upon her mouth and neck. "Oooooh!…" She wriggled. "Nasty, filthy animal!...”

I shoved my thumb against her clit.

“AH!...” Her voice was raw. “Goddamn chauvinistic pig!...Why would you say something so disgusting and untrue!?!" I circled her clit like it was an analog stick on a video game controller. ….Ohhhhhhhhh! FUCK!...Don’t stop!....”

She groaned in protest when I reared back to shed my remaining clothes. Although, she quietened right down at the sight of my hard, swollen cock. 

Her cheeks glowed and she suddenly appeared a little uncertain; intimidated even.

Slowly looming forward, I used my bulk to encourage her to lay back. “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re not getting _it_ just yet.”

I kissed my way down between her tits. "You're nowhere near wet enough." 

Her ribcage inflated and deflated in time to her quickening respiratory rate. “It’s your fault,” she stuttered. “If you hadn’t kept talking about Gohan…”

“Fair enough,” I said, having reached her cesarean scar. “Let me put it right.”

I furled her satin pink shorts over her hips, delighted to find that she wore nothing underneath.

“Nnnngrrhh….” A spell of self-consciousness had her moaning as my eyes locked onto the closely cropped pathway of curls arrowing down to the bare cleft beneath. 

As I hooked my arms around her upper thighs, she panted and threw her hands above her head.

I viced her legs apart. Her hands balled up into fists. 

Her head lolled to the side. “… _Vegeta._ ”

Faced with flush lips riven by a neat pink fission, my jaw slackened and I lowered. 

“Ah!…AHHHHH!!!”

My tongue stabbed into her slit. She bucked. And I was surrounded by the sound of skin scraping against carpet. 

Her honeyed taste seeped into my senses and a fresh wave of mind-blowing desire sank to my groin.

I wasn’t going in for any of the languorous oral that I used to wake her up with as a treat on Sunday mornings. Instead, I lathed her clit with unrelenting pressure akin to animal grooming. And every scrape of my tastebuds wrought a lupine howl.

“Oh!!...Oh!…Ohhhhhh!.”

I slipped her pussy two fingers, making sure to go in up to the knuckle, so that she’d have the satisfaction of gripping some hardness. “Mmmmh…”

My other hand parted her slit, fully exposing her clit to my rapidly flicking tongue.

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”

Goosepimples sprang up on her skin. She pushed down on my hand, mewling with the kind of pleasure-filled frustration that told of how she was aching for more.

The flat of my tongue pressed down on her clit and, as my mouth engulfed her cunt, she panted through the dense, wet sensation.

“AGHHH!...I’m gonna cum!”

I drew back. Strings of saliva and arousal stretching and snapping between her pussy and my chin. Kneeling upright, I nestled in close to her, wedging my thighs under hers, tugging her legs either side of my waistline. Her ass settled into my lap, I gripped her waist and her body lengthened. “Ohhhhh!” She groaned when she felt the tip of my hard on nudge against her pussy.

My abdominal muscles contracted. 

>>>>>>>!!!>>>

And, with a flex of her spine and the merciless surge of my pelvis, friction, heavenly, exciting friction rolled down my cock until it was completely buried inside her.

Her eyes bulged. She yelped, tossing her head left then right.

There may have been some pleas for me to _take it easy_ but they were drowned out by the pulse hammering my eardrums.

Driven by the raw, primal need for pleasure, I took off with a rhythm that stole her breath.

Riding her violently, the walls of her pussy snagged along my dick.

“OHH!....I CAN’T…I CAN’T TAKE IT!”

My vision hazed as I concentrated on the sight of her pussy stretching around my thrusting cock. Fuck, I looked big. 

“…Ohhh!...Please, Baby…not so rough!”

Those pretty pink folds were doing their damnedest to accommodate my length and girth. But despite spewing lashings of she-cum, her cunt looked ready to split apart at the seams.

“…Just…AHH!...Just slow down a little…”

I released one side of her waist, curving my palm, to land a quick slap against the side of her ass.

“AIIGH!”

“Get used to it!” I grinned wickedly, upping my pace. “You’re not screwing around with a kid now.”

“AHHH!….AHHHHH!….VEGETA!….OHHHH!!!!!”

Hitting full depth, I fucked her like I was trying to break my dick.

Air jolted from her lungs, she couldn’t talk.

And, as climactic waves closed in on my cock, I too, was rendered speechless. Under the shifting layers of foreskin, every nerve ending was harnessing the hugging, sucking pressure of her pussy and driving me to dizzying heights of eroticism. 

Then, in defiance of all that begging for me to _ease up_ and _slow down_ , she tilted her hips and locked her legs around my back, trapping my cock deep inside her.

“…AHH!...YES!....YES!....HAAAAGHHH!”

At the point of no return, her entire body arched, trembling and glistening with sweat.

“AIIIIIIGHHHH!!!”

Her piercing shriek heralded her fall into orgasm.

As her pussy clenched and pulsed, I was a mess of ragged grunts. My chest and back were drenched, brilliant bright lights were flashing behind my eyelids, an almighty twist of pleasure wrung the cum from my balls and I jet-washed the gate of her womb in hot, frothing spurts.

Everything slowed and I primed for the kind of crashing come down that I was so often struck by after sex - the need for silence, space and sleep.

Instead, as I gazed down at my shattered wife, and the cum slathered connection between our bodies, I felt pleasantly cleansed. Not madly in love, not even particularly affectionate, but, for sure, it felt as if I’d taken a big step in the right direction.

After a few softly spoken words and gentle petting, we gave ourselves over to the calm and logic that sets in after sex.

Bulma slipped her top over her head. “No pressure,” she said. “But…what does _this_ mean?”

I pulled up my sweatpants so that they sat just above my hips. “Since I couldn't keep my hands off you after seeing Gohan, it probably means I need to see a shrink.”

My response wasn't the passionate re-avowal of love that she was looking for. Nevertheless, she took my wisecrack as recognition enough that we had begun a new chapter.

She giggled. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually glad that Goku wasn’t fast enough to stop Gohan before he made it over here. Guess now that he’s in his thirties, he’s slowing down.”

I stood and reached out to help her up. “Don’t be ridiculous," I said. "He’s in the prime of his life. He could’ve caught the kid no sweat if…”

I froze.

“Well, sure,” said Bulma. Après-orgasm her balance was off and she swayed a little. “I mean, I’m a perfect example of how good a person in their thirties can look. It’s just, all those years of fighting must must take its toll…”

As revelation dawned upon me, I completely overlooked her dumb rambling. “He let Gohan give him the slip, deliberately." I said. "Then, stopped him in the nick of time.”

Bulma raised an eyebrow. “Who? Goku? Why would he do that?”

“To remind me that I’ve got competition for your affections,” I said. “And to make me… _react_.”

“You really think Goku would pull a trick like that?”

I didn’t think it, I knew it. 

In the moments before he took off, it was written all over his face - in that sagacious smile, the cocksure look in his moonlit eyes. There was no doubt in my mind, he'd got me sussed and fooled me twice.

* * *

I left Bulma sipping tea on the sofa while I made a phone call.

As with all calls made to the Son residence, Chi Chi answered. The woman was such a control freak, it was as if she camped permanently by the damn telephone. “Hello!” Her voice was the vocal equivalent of bitter lemon. “Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It’s Vegeta,” I said, bracing myself for an earful of grief.

“Again!?! Honestly, Vegeta, it’s nice that you and Goku have become phone buddies but all this late night business is getting beyond a joke! What do the pair of you even talk about?...”

I heard Kakarot’s voice in the background. “…Uh..lemmie take care of that, Honey.”

They quarrelled. “What is wrong with that man?" Said Chi Chi. "Doesn’t he sleep?” She even went as far as to cite a story from a magazine in which a wife was left high and dry after her husband entered into a homosexual relationship with his best friend. She suggested to Kakarot that something similar was blossoming between he and I but much to my relief he reassured her that she was being ridiculous. Then, somehow, he managed to take charge of the phone.

“Hey there, Buddy," he chirped. "Hope this is important. I’m probably gonna be in the doghouse for the rest of the week.”

I paced. “It was a risky move, letting your kid come over here.”

I knew he was smiling.

“…There’s no foolin’ you, is there?”

“Not a chance.”

“It worked though, right?”

I leaned against the wall and stared back into the living room at Bulma. “What makes you say that?”

“Well," he said. "Ordinarily, you’d have got mad and hurled a few insults by now. But you sound real mellow, Dude. So, somethin’ good musta happened.”

It was unnerving how well he read me. I felt almost violated. But it’s not as if I could tell him that his assertion was wrong. “Damn you, Kakarot,” I said. 

My fist clenched. "And!......" The next words felt like a fish bone stuck in my throat. "…… _Th_ _ank you_.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta's escapades will continue in 'Book 2' Woman, Angel, Princess, Beautiful - The Rebound


End file.
